


A Box, A Trip, and A New Beginning

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boarding School, Camping, Childhood Friends, Everyone Knows They Belong Together Always, Explicit Sexual Content, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, Memories, Reunion, Sad Sherlock, Separation, Teenlock, alternative universe, collegelock, time capsule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Life-long friends are separated when Sherlock is sent to boarding school. Will their friendship survive the distance?





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> WE MISS YOU!
> 
> We know we've slowed down, and we also know that the fandom has changed a little with time (and the disastrous S4). But we still love writing together for you and appreciate every one of you who enjoys our stories!
> 
> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, you can leave them in the comments or at JW's tumblr page, which can be found [here](http://ivefangirledandicantgetup.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

"Mum! I'm leaving!" John was stuffing knick-knacks into his backpack. He'd been rummaging the house and his room for days to find the perfect items. 

"John! It’s going to be dark soon. Where are you going -- no. Let me guess. Sherlock's?"

"Mum, it’s the last weekend of the summer. And he's going off to some fancy school and we won't be able to see each other much."

"It’s for the stupid ritual -- the dark makes it special," Harry teased. John glared at her. “I heard you talking on the phone,” she said with a smirk.

"Ritual? What’s going on?" his mum called.

John pulled open the door. "I'm leaving!" He hopped on his bike and rode off.

He pedaled hard to get to Sherlock's. They had been planning this for ages, and he was excited. It took just over 15 minutes -- Sherlock's family lived further out, in a big house that still impressed John. He skid to a stop and dropped his bike in the grass, hurrying up the steps to ring the bell. 

Sherlock watched John come up the path to the house. He left his bedroom and headed downstairs right as John rang the bell. His mum rushed out, but he said, “I’ll get it -- it’s John.” 

“Come get something to eat before you two run off,” she said, heading back into the kitchen.

Sherlock opened the door. “You staying the night?” he asked.

"I didn’t ask, but if I call my mum I might be able to convince her," he said. 

“I think it’d be best if you could stay,” Sherlock said. “Are you hungry? My mum’s making food.”

John nodded. "I barely ate at home. We had leftovers heated up -- I knew your mum would have something good," he grinned. 

“You can leave your stuff here,” Sherlock said, pointing to the foot of the stairs. “Come on.”

“Hello, John,” Mrs Holmes said. “How’s your mother?”

"She's okay," he said. "What are you making for dinner?"

“Your favourite,” Mrs Holmes said. “Sherlock, I expect you to eat it. Here’s a sandwich to share until it’s ready.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock said.

“I know,” she said. “Still.”

Sherlock got them two bottles of water and sat down at the table. “Did you bring your things?” he asked John quietly.

John nodded. "I found the perfect stuff," he said quietly back.

Sherlock’s mum brought over two plates with a half sandwich on each. “What have you two got planned?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said quickly, glancing over at John. “Can John stay the night if his mum says it’s all right?’

“You think you’ll need all night to get nothing done?”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

“I’m teasing you,” she said. “John is always welcome here as long as his mother approves.”

"Can I use the phone to call her?" he asked. 

“Of course,” Mrs Holmes said. 

“Do it now,” Sherlock said. “So we know.”

Mrs Holmes looked over. “I think you two are doing more than nothing,” she said with a smile.

“Do we have to tell you?” Sherlock asked.

“Is it dangerous?” she asked.

“Definitely not,” he said.

“Then you don’t have to tell,” she said. “But you can if you want to.”

“Not now,” Sherlock said.

John took a quick bite before calling his house.

"Hello?"

"Mum, can I sleep over?"

"John, I wasn’t finished talking to you when you left."

"Please? Mrs Holmes is making my favourite and she said it's okay and it's the last weekend of summer . . ."

"Fine," she said. "You behave yourself."

"I will, bye!" He grinned at Sherlock.

“Excellent,” Sherlock said. He picked up his sandwich and ate a bite. “I’m done, I think.”

Sherlock’s mum frowned. “I don’t think so,” she said.

"You gotta have half, remember?" John said, widening his eyes knowingly.

Sherlock had another bite. “You’re not the boss of me,” he said with a little smile.

“I am the boss of you and John’s right,” his mum said.

“Neither of you is the boss of me,” Sherlock said. He ate another bite.

John smiled as he finished his half. He started on the crisps.

Sherlock glanced up at his mum who was now busying herself in the kitchen. He broke off some of his sandwich and put it on John’s plate. “I found the perfect place,” he said softly.

John glanced at Sherlock's mum before pushing the bite in his mouth. "Where?"

“Behind the lilac underneath my window,” Sherlock said. “It should stay protected, but there’s no way anyone would ever move that bush so it won’t get accidentally dug up.”

John nodded. "That's a good idea," he murmured.

“Do you think this is stupid? Say if you do,” Sherlock said, glancing over again to make sure his mum wasn’t listening. “I know sometimes I come up with ideas you hate.”

"I love this idea," he whispered. "Really."

Sherlock smiled. “You’ve not told anyone, have you?” he asked.

John shook his head. "No one."

“I haven’t either,” Sherlock said. “And we never will, right?”

"Never. It'll be our secret."

Sherlock finished his water. “I’ve moving in on Sunday -- I mean, that’s when I have to go,” he said. 

"Maybe we can write letters," he said. 

“Obviously, we’ll write letters,” Sherlock said. “I’ll still be able to help you with your classes.”

"Okay good," John smiled.

Sherlock stood up. “Stop talking about it anyway -- I don’t know why you have to keep bringing it up,” he said. “Hurry up and finish.” He grabbed his plate to take into the kitchen.

"I'm done," he said, getting up quickly.

“Come on,” Sherlock said. “Let’s go to my room first.” He put John’s plate into the sink and then decided to quickly wash them. He led them to the stairs and grabbed John’s bag and headed to his room where he flopped onto the bed. “Should we show each other our things first?”

John nodded. "Yeah, and we can make sure it’s what we want in the box."

Sherlock sat up and slid off the bed, pulling a bag from underneath. He pulled a wooden box out. “I thought we could use this,” he said. “It’s got metal inside for protection.”

"Great. It looks really official," John said. 

Sherlock pulled out a jar from the bag. “I want to put in this from chemistry class -- I don’t know quite what it is, but I might in the future,” he said. “Maybe it’ll be an essential ingredient in something important.”

"I think it's just weird goop," John smiled. "I have a handful of little army men." He put them on the bed.

“Remember what you used to want to play Army every time you came over? I’m glad you got over that phase,” Sherlock said.

John laughed. "I'm glad you got out of this phase," he said, taking out the foreign film Sherlock showed him.

“Don’t worry -- I can easily find another copy for when you grow up and want to watch it again,” Sherlock said. “What else have you got?”

"I brought this picture of us from the zoo trip we took a couple years ago," John said. "I think this was just before we snuck off and then got in trouble."

Sherlock took it from John, looking at it and smiling. “That was a good day,” he said. “I’ve got a picture as well -- from awards day. I think it perfectly sums us up.” He looked at it and laughed before handing it to John.

John smiled as he looked at it. "It's perfect," he said. "Anything else?"

“This mug that you brought me from Italy -- it was from the worst summer of my life because you were gone for so long,” Sherlock said, setting it on the bed. “And this,” Sherlock said, quickly waving an envelope.

"What is it?" John asked, trying to grab it.

“A letter to my future self,” Sherlock said. “It’s sealed so give up trying to see what it says.”

John pouted. "You won't tell me?"

“Don’t pout, it’s unattractive,” Sherlock said, repeating something his mother had said to him often. “You can read it when we’re old and open the box.”

John huffed. "Okay, fine. Is that everything we're putting in?"

“I think that’s all,” Sherlock said. “What do you want to do now?”

"Let's pick a code for the lock."

Sherlock looked over suspiciously. “Have you got some brilliant idea for the code?” he asked.

"Our birthdays," he grinned.

“All right -- a bit obvious, but fine,” Sherlock said. He moved the box over to a chair and flopped on the bed again. “We’ll bury it at midnight. What do you want to do now?”

John shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

“We could go out to the shed and I could show you the experiment I’ve been working on,” Sherlock suggested. “Or we could go on a walk.”

"I want to see what you're working on," John said.

Sherlock smiled at John in a way that meant thank you. They headed downstairs and out the back to the shed. Sherlock got a stool for John and then began talking him through his experiment. He knew he was probably going into too much detail, but he couldn’t help it. This stuff was so exciting to him, and he liked that John would sometimes pretend it was to him as well.

John smiled as he listened. He really had no idea what Sherlock was talking about, but he enjoyed how thrilled Sherlock got.

“Do you want to pour in the last thing?” Sherlock asked. “If I’m right, it’ll turn blue and bubble but it won’t explode in your face -- I promise.” He held out the beaker to John.

John got up and took the beaker. "What happens if you're wrong?" 

“It’ll blow this shed to bits,” Sherlock answered.

John blinked at Sherlock and poured in the liquid. 

Sherlock smiled when it changed colour and bubbled up to the top. “Excellent,” he said, grabbing some kitchen roll and cleaning up the spill. Then he jotted down a few notes, writing in John’s name as part of the result. “Thanks for your help,” he said.

John laughed. "I barely did anything."

“Wrong,” Sherlock said. “You were here to witness my brilliance -- that’s the most important part.” He stuck his tongue out.

John laughed again. "Watch that big head, Sherlock. You won't fit through the door."

“I’m not worried -- you’re the only one who cares,” Sherlock said. He tidied up the experiment, putting the beakers into a bucket to take inside to wash. He sat down on a stool next to John. “I bet you’ll be glad when you don’t have to watch me anymore. You can just do sports stuff with your new friends.”

"Don't be stupid. I like watching you. I like hanging out with you."

“So you say,” Sherlock said. “But I know you like other things and now you’ll be able to do them.”

"I do the things I like. That includes hanging out with you, Sherlock." 

Sherlock fiddled with something on the table. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” he said quietly. “I won’t have any friends.”

"You will. I'm sure your fancy school has all kinds of scientists you'll get along with."

“I won’t -- you know how I am,” Sherlock said. He pushed the stool back and stood up. “Come on, I should go wash these things.” He picked up the bucket.

"You're amazing, Sherlock. Trust me," John said as he followed. 

“You’re the only one I trust,” Sherlock said. He led them into the kitchen where he washed up his things.

“You’re not making a mess, are you?” his mum asked as she came in.

“Yes, but now I’m cleaning it up obviously,” Sherlock said, lifting his soapy hands.

“Did he blow up anything?” she asked John.

"No," John said. "Everything worked perfectly."

“As long as no one got hurt,” she said. She tousled Sherlock’s hair. “Since you’re already here, do you boys want to set the table for us?”

“Not really,” Sherlock said. He looked over at John.

John shrugged. "I'll do what you do," he said. 

“Let me rephrase that. Set the table,” Sherlock’s mum said, pushing Sherlock from the sink.

Sherlock dried his hands and then leaned up to get some plates, handing them to John before grabbing the silverware. “Sorry she’s so horrible,” he said to John as they moved to the table.

“I heard that!” she called after them.

"I think you're great, Mrs Holmes." He smiled at Sherlock. "She's always feeding me."

“Why don’t you move in and send this grump to your house?” she said. “Sherlock, did you tell John all about your school?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “He was as fascinated as I am,” he added sarcastically.

“He’s just showing off,” she said. “He was excited when we decided.”

“That was a long time ago,” Sherlock said. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“No, you haven’t,” she said. “You’re just nervous.” She brought in some glasses to set on the table. “John, you play sports -- you must get nervous before matches. Tell him it’ll be all right.”

"It'll be okay because I'll help him," John said.

“You won’t be there,” Sherlock said. “I’ll be by myself.”

His mother smiled softly and glanced at John. “You won’t be -- you’ll make friends there and you’ll see John on break.”

Once they’d finished, John followed Sherlock outside again. "It really will be okay," he said. 

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Sherlock said. “But it won’t be . . . because you won’t be there. You know I couldn’t have survived school without you and now she’s making me go to this new place and . . .”

John took his hand. "You'll be okay. I know it," he said. "I've never lied to you, right?"

Sherlock looked over. “No, you have never lied to me,” he stated. John had never lied -- not once. Sherlock had never doubted him. However, he knew John didn’t know things would be okay, no one could know that. John’s statement was more about belief. John believed things that Sherlock couldn’t, and sometimes Sherlock was jealous of that. He dropped John’s hand and said, “Sorry -- let’s stop talking about it. Don’t bring it up in front of her, okay?” 

"I won't," he said. "I promise."

“I know they think it’s the best thing,” Sherlock said. “Maybe it is.” He looked up at the sky. “It doesn’t feel like it though.” He turned to John. “Let’s watch a film tonight -- that’ll give us something else to talk about because you’ll probably like it and I’ll need to explain to you why it’s terrible.” He pulled a stupid face.

John smiled. "That sounds good."

“It’s ready,” Sherlock’s mum called from the house so they got up and went inside.

John sat next to Sherlock and took a deep breath. "Everything always smells so good here," he said. 

“I doubt that shed smells very good,” Sherlock’s mum said with a smile. “Dig in -- your dad’s working late so we don’t need to wait.”

Sherlock looked at John. “You go first,” he said with a nod.

John took a big bite and hummed. "It’s not poison. Eat," he teased. 

Sherlock put some onto his plate. He looked over at his mum who began talking about something -- nonsense really, but he knew she was doing it to help him. It was so frustrating -- she always knew when he was struggling, yet she was the one who was making him leave everything he felt comfortable with. He ate a few things on his plate.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take too long for his mum to run out of things to talk about. So she said, “Are you looking forward to starting back to school, John?”

John nodded. "Yeah . . . I'm hoping to play rugby," he said. He glanced at Sherlock, almost nervously. 

“You’ll be excellent,” she said. “Sherlock’s school has a cricket team.”

Sherlock looked over at his mother. Why had she said that?

“We’re going to watch a film after dinner,” he said. “Then go to sleep.”

“Right,” she said. “And what trouble do you plan to get into in between those two things?”

Sherlock smiled. 

“John Watson,” she said. “What trouble does he have planned?”

John shrugged and hid his smile in a big bite of food. 

She smiled at them both.


	2. Burial

After dinner, she asked them to do the washing up and for some reason Sherlock agreed. “I wash, you dry,” he said to John, throwing him a tea towel.

"Okay," he said, catching the towel. 

“You pick the film tonight,” Sherlock said as he washed. “I won’t care, whatever it is.”

John smiled at him. "I always pick the film. You always care what it is."

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “We’ll watch a documentary, but you’d better not complain.”

"I promise," John said. "I'll just tell you everything wrong with it," he grinned. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he finished the washing. He put the dishes John had dried away. “Let’s go upstairs?” he asked. “Do you want to take up something to drink?”

"Just some water," John said. He leaned closer. "Are we going to sneak out?" he whispered. 

“After they’ve gone to bed,” Sherlock said. “I doubt they’d care but she might get fussy about us messing with her plants. We’ll be careful.” He handed John a bottle of water, and they headed upstairs.

In his room, Sherlock set up his laptop and picked the first documentary he could find, a film about unsolved crimes. He flopped onto the bed. “This isn’t going to scare you, is it?” he teased.

John rolled his eyes and pushed Sherlock's arm. "I'm not a wimp," he smiled. 

“I know you’re not a wimp,” Sherlock said. “But you sometimes let your emotions rule you. You should spend the film trying to use your logic to solve the crimes.”

"Mm, I'm just going to enjoy the show, I think."

“Do what you like,” Sherlock said. He punched his pillow a little and stuck in behind his back as he leaned up against the wall. He glanced at the window. “My dad’s home. Good -- it won’t be long until they go to bed. Should I start the film?”

John nodded. "Yeah, that way when she checks in on us everything looks normal," he smiled. 

“Everything is normal,” Sherlock said. “Right?” he asked.

"Right," John said. 

Sherlock turned off the lamp and then turned on the film. He relaxed back a bit and started watching for clues.

About half way through the film, Sherlock said, “I want everything to be normal. To stay that way.” He didn’t turn his head and he kept his voice a whisper.

John nodded. "Me too. It will," he said. 

“It won’t,” Sherlock said. “We won’t see each other every day. That’s not normal.”

"I know but . . ." John sighed. "I know. We'll make it work, though. We're best friends, we have to."

“You always think positive, and it’s really annoying,” Sherlock said, grabbing a pillow and hitting John.

John laughed. "Well, one of us has to," he said. 

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Sherlock said. 

"It’s true because I'm doing it," he smiled. 

“All right, settle down,” Sherlock said. He focused on the screen. “Have you figured out what killed that guy?”

"Nope," John admitted. "I was trying to, but someone kept hitting me with things."

“Fine, keep watching, just know that I am pretty sure I know,” Sherlock said. “But no pressure.”

"Yeah right," he laughed. 

Sherlock shifted to get a little more comfortable and then picked up a pen to fiddle with. When the film finished, he said, “I think I’ve solved at least two of the cases.”

John glanced over. "I haven't solved anything," he said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then he turned down the volume and asked quietly, “Have you heard any noises in the house?”

John shook his head. "No, but would they go to bed without checking in?"

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. “Well, you’re right. Hold on.” He got up and went to his parents’ bedroom door. They were in there, but they were talking. He tapped lightly.

“Sherlock?” his dad asked.

Sherlock opened the door a little, peeking his head in. They were both in bed, which was a good sign. “John and I wanted to go out to the shed after this film,” he said. “Is that okay? We didn’t want you to get worried if you heard the door.”

Sherlock’s dad looked at his mum.

“Just to the shed, right?” his mum asked. “You’re not going off somewhere, are you?”

“No, I promise we will be right here in the garden.”

No one said anything for a minute so Sherlock added, “It’s the last night he’s staying over before you send me away . . .”

“Come here for a minute,” his mum said. She sat up and patted the bed. Sherlock came over and sat down. “Do you really not want to go?” she asked.

Sherlock didn’t say anything.

His dad said, “Son, I know new things can be difficult. But life is full of new things and I don’t want you to miss out on them.”

“I know,” Sherlock said. It made sense, but still he didn’t like it.

“You’ll make new friends at school,” his mum said. “And even though your friendship with John will change, it doesn’t have to end.” She gave his hand a little squeeze. “If you don’t believe us, believe John. I know he understands.”

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. “Maybe he could explain it to me out in the shed. . .”

His mum laughed. “You are such a pain, Sherlock Holmes,” she said, pushing her legs underneath the duvet against his. “Get up and go. If you go out to the shed, be quiet, don’t lock yourself out, and clean up any messes you make.”

Sherlock stood up. “Good night,” he said as he walked to the door.

“Good night, Sherlock,” they both said.

He went back to his bedroom. “Get the stuff,” he said to John. “We’ll need to go out to the shed for bit, but then we can get to work.”

John got out of the bed and gathered the stuff he brought, getting the box Sherlock showed him while he grabbed his own stuff. "Are we sneaking or did you ask?"

“I said we wanted to go out to the shed, so they didn’t worry if they heard the door,” Sherlock said, taking the box from John. “I gave them a sad face and they fell for it,” he added.

He led them downstairs and outside. He set the box down to open the shed. He brought the box in and sat down. “Let’s make some tea before we get to work,” he said, as he filled the tin kettle with water and set it on the hot plate.

John nodded, arranging all of their little things while he waited. 

Sherlock gave John a cup. “How far down do you think we should dig?” he asked.

"I don't know -- we don't want it coming up when it rains."

“It’s pretty heavy. I brought in the shovels earlier,” Sherlock said, nodding over to the corner. “We’ll see how dig we can deep in about fifteen minutes. That should be enough.” He took a sip of tea. “Are you sleepy? Afterward, we could watch another film or something.”

"Maybe we can play something for background noise," he said. 

“Okay,” Sherlock said. He finished his tea and peeked out of the shed, noticing his parents’ window was dark. “Are you ready?”

John put his mug down and nodded. "Yeah, let's do this."

Sherlock slid the box over to John and said, “Remember, once it’s locked, we don’t open it until we’re old and ready for university.”

After one final look, John closed the box and locked it. "This is exciting."

Sherlock smiled. “It is,” he said. “I’m so glad you thought of this,” he added with a wink. He let John carry the box and he took the shovels. They moved quietly through the garden, keeping an eye on Sherlock’s parents’ window. They got to the side of the house and moved to below Sherlock’s window. John set the box down and Sherlock gave him a shovel. They each started digging.

After a few digs, Sherlock said, “This is harder than I thought.” He looked over. “You okay?”

"I know it’s hard for lightweights, but we have to go deeper," he said, still digging. 

“You’re better at this kind of stuff,” Sherlock said. “But I won’t stop.” He kept digging until finally it seemed deep enough. Sherlock looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Just like I said.” 

John knelt down and put the box in the ground carefully. "Does that look good?"

“I think so,” Sherlock said. “Should we say something -- that seems like the kind of thing you would want. Like when your gerbil died.”

John looked over at him. "That was different. We don't have to say anything now because we're coming back to this."

“Well, that one time I did suggest digging up the gerbil, but you said no,” Sherlock said. “Okay, let’s cover it up.” He started softly pushing the dirt back over the box. John helped him cover the box, smoothing the dirt so they couldn't tell anything had been disturbed. 

“We should put the tools back in the shed,” Sherlock said. His voice was a whisper even though it didn’t really need to be. Once the shed was locked up again, they quietly made their way back into the house. He turned off all the lights and they walked upstairs. Sherlock detoured to wash his hands and brush his teeth. He went back into his bedroom and grabbed his pajamas. “Are you going to go to the toilet before bed?” he asked.

John nodded. "I'll be back in a second. Am I sleeping in here?"

“Obviously,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Unless you want to sleep in my parents’ room . . .”

While John was gone, Sherlock changed into his pajamas and then pulled the cover off his bed. He threw a pillow down to the bottom and moved there, against the wall.

John stuck his tongue out before going to the bathroom and getting ready for bed. He came back and climbed in. "Don't kick me like last time," he teased.

“It’s not my fault what happens when I’m asleep,” Sherlock said. He quickly moved his foot close to John’s face and then moved it back. “Remember the first time you slept over and you had to call your mum in the middle of the night?” he laughed.

"Your house makes weird noises," John said.

“It does not,” Sherlock said. “You make weird noises,” he added, pushing on John’s arm with his foot.

John pinched his ankle. "Stop that," he said.

Sherlock shifted a little in the bed, turning toward John. “Stop talking -- I was practically asleep and you woke me up,” he teased.

"Oh please. You never sleep before one," John said.

“I know, but today’s different -- I did hard labour, don’t forget.”

John laughed. "Hard labour! Okay, whatever, you big baby.”

“You’re the baby,” Sherlock mumbled and then lay quietly for a while. “John? You asleep?” he whispered.

"No," John whispered back. 

“I want to tell you something,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that it’s okay to get a new best friend.”

"Oh. Well, that's a relief. I'll tell Matt he can stop hiding," John joked. 

“Matt? That guy is an idiot!”

"I'm just joking because I assumed you were joking," John said. He turned on his side. "I'm not getting another best friend."

“Oh, right,” Sherlock said. He rolled over to face the wall. “I’m not saying you have to get another one. I’m just saying it’s okay if you do.”

"But I won't. You'll still be my best friend," he said. "Even from far away."

Sherlock didn’t want to argue about it. He’d known what John’s reaction would be, but it still felt important to say. He waited a few minutes. “I don’t really want to go to this new school, John,” he said softly.

"I wish you didn't have to go either," John said. "But you're going to love it. The science program -- you can do so many cools things. Better than our school."

Sherlock nodded a little. “But the other kids . . . I won’t have you there to help when I act the wrong way,” he said.

"You don't act wrong. You're . . .extraordinary. If they can't see that then they don't deserve to have you as a friend." 

Sherlock exhaled. “You’re the only one who thinks that, John,” he said.

"But I'm extra smart, don’t forget," John said.

Sherlock pushed his leg back and kicked John’s arm. “Quit talking about it,” he said. He shifted in the bed to get more comfortable. After a few minutes, he said, “The school doesn’t have the same half terms. If I stay, I won’t be back until December.”

"Maybe I can convince my mum to drive me on weekends?"

“You’ll have matches at the weekends.”

"Not all of them.”

“John, oh my God -- are you trying to infuriate me?” Sherlock asked.

"No. I feel like you're trying to make us both upset for no reason."

Sherlock didn’t answer for a few minutes. “You don’t have anything to be upset about,” he said.

"My best friend is leaving me, of course I'm upset. I'm trying to enjoy sleeping over at his house."

“You’re my best friend, too,” Sherlock whispered. He swallowed awkwardly. “Night, John.”

John reached out and touched Sherlock's ankle. "Night."

Sherlock pushed his face into his pillow to wipe his eyes. Then he closed them and took a picture in his head of what he imagined they looked like lying there, so he would always remember everything about this night.


	3. Apart

For all the talk John was doing to Sherlock that night they’d buried the box, he felt like a hypocrite when he walked into school alone. It was like his first day ever all over again. He saw friends comparing classes and lunch breaks, and he had no one to do that with. It didn't matter when he had chemistry or maths or lunch because Sherlock wasn't going to be in any of them. He wondered how Sherlock was doing at his new school and hoped he was handling it okay. He was going to have to write as soon as he could -- maybe they could still talk about those things, and it would make everything feel a little bit more normal. He couldn’t wait until sixth form when they bring their phones to class.

As the weeks passed, John settled in easily. He made it onto the rugby team and some of the boys were in most of his classes. He was well liked, popular. He wrote letters to Sherlock -- about his classes, his matches, and sometimes his friends. Sherlock’s letters were quite short, so John stopped mentioning his friends, which was harder and harder to do. Over winter break at least, they would have lots of time together, and it could be how it used to be.

Sherlock was sitting outside the library, writing to John. He’d sent him a few quick notes in response to John’s letters, but he was waiting as he worked on his real letter. It was a long one, three notebooks long actually, and Sherlock had filled it with all the important things that had happened so far.

“What are you writing?”

Sherlock looked up. It was Jim, a boy who had insisted on sitting next to him in every class since the first day of school. “Just work,” he mumbled and looked back down.

“No one works that much,” Jim said, sitting down next to Sherlock. “You writing a love letter to your mother?” 

Sherlock closed his notebook. “I’m making notes,” he said.

“But you’re not reading anything,” Jim said.

“I’m making notes . . . on things from class or whatever, to help me remember.”

“Is this your first time away from home?” Jim asked. 

“No,” Sherlock lied. “Not really.”

“I figured as much,” Jim said. “That’s why I’m going to help you.”

“Help me?” Sherlock asked.

“I can tell you don’t know how to do anything,” Jim said. “So I thought I could help you be more normal. That’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends?” Sherlock asked. “I don’t know you.”

“We will be when we get to know each other,” Jim said. “Tell me a secret.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” Sherlock said. 

“Only idiots don’t have secrets,” Jim said.

“I guess I’m an idiot then,” Sherlock said as he started putting his things in his bag.

Jim grabbed Sherlock’s arm. “Don’t be a jerk -- I’m trying to help you,” he said roughly.

Sherlock pulled his arm. “Let go of me,” he said, looking straight at Jim. “I don’t need your help.”

Jim stared back. “You will,” he said with a smile.

Sherlock looked away as he turned, releasing his arm from Jim’s grasp. He walked back to his room and threw his bag against his chair. He grabbed the notebook and flopped onto the bed. His heart was beating irregularly, and he took some deep breaths to settle himself. Then he sat up and grabbed a pen to add the episode to his letter to John. 

He looked down at the sheet before turning to read the first page. He’d written it after some older boys had destroyed his experiment in the chemistry lab. The whole book was filled with all the bad times he’d had here. He ripped the pages out and tore them into little pieces. He pulled the other two notebooks out of his drawer and ripped those to shreds as well. He lay down on his bed and turned away from the mess and willed himself to sleep.

The closer they got to the holiday, the fewer letters John wrote. There were so many tests, John was practising all the time -- there were just so many distractions. But a week before the end of term, John sat and wrote to Sherlock. He had to -- his family was going to go on a trip over Christmas and as much as John protested, they wouldn't leave him behind. He wouldn't be able to see Sherlock at all, and it felt like another nail in the coffin of their friendship. It had been so long, and he hated to think Sherlock had been right, that they wouldn't survive it. He wanted to, but it was hard. Harder than John had imagined it would be. 

When Sherlock got John’s letter about Christmas, he’d already known what it was going to say. His mum had talked to John’s mum, and she’d warned him in advance. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He missed John so much, but he knew they both were growing up. He guessed that growing up meant growing apart.


	4. Further Apart

"John? What are you doing inside? It’s nice out -- you should be outside."

John turned to look at his mum. "I'm just finishing up a letter to Sherlock."

"I know it’s frustrating that he stays at school during breaks,” she said. “But these things happen . . .”

"Nothing is happening," John said quickly. "He’s busy, but we're best friends."

She smiled. “Maybe we can plan a drive to his school -- has he invited you?"

"He doesn't need to -- I mean, maybe we can plan it."

She was quiet for a moment. "Okay. Just let me know," she said. "Come out soon, okay?"

John nodded. He stared at his letter and added his free days, suggesting all the different things they could do when John came to visit, especially if he had his mum drop him off for a whole weekend. That would be perfect -- they could properly catch up. He knew two days wouldn't be enough, but it would be a good start.

John sent the letter and tried to enjoy his time while waiting for a reply. He was worried -- if Sherlock took a long time to respond, how were they going to make a plan for the visit? Did Sherlock want to see him? Would he want to explain his experiments to John who could barely follow along now that he probably had real scientist friends who could actually contribute? He didn't like thinking about that. He understood now how Sherlock must have felt when John’s letters included stuff about his new friends.

When school started again, John was slow to get back into the flow. One day his mum sat down beside him and said, "John, love, you know Sherlock. His mind is always going a mile a minute. I’m sure he's just busy, but he hasn't forgotten you. You just have to be patient."

John shrugged. "It doesn't matter. He'll reply when he replies."

His mum touched his shoulder and sighed softly. "I just came to tell you that I'm going out with some friends for dinner, so I gave your sister money to order pizza. Why don’t you invite a friend over?”

John nodded. "Okay,” he said. At first, he felt like pouting, but that seemed stupid. He did have friends, so he called one to come over.

Days turned into weeks. His classes picked up and so did rugby. John didn't write Sherlock again. He decided not to until he got a letter from Sherlock, so he would have something to write back to.

______________________________________________________

Sherlock took his test and put it directly in his bag, without even looking at it. He knew what the grade was. He was packing his bag up when his teacher walked over. “Can I have a word with you in my office?” she asked.

Sherlock nodded and followed her out of the room.

“You’re the best student in this class,” she said.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

“I’d like to put you on the science team,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“We work together on projects and then compete against other schools,” she said. She reached into her desk and pulled out some papers. “Here, you can read about it and tell me next week.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“What part of it is worrying you?” she asked. “The working together part?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything.

“Sit down,” she said and Sherlock did. “I know being away from home is hard. Have you made any friends in the last year?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Friends are good to have,” she said. “Did you have friends at your last school?”

“One,” Sherlock said quietly, still not looking at her.

“You don’t have to be friends with anyone on the science team,” she said. “I didn’t mean to give that impression. But please think about it because you’re very smart -- it would be great for the team, but it would also look good when you apply for uni.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sherlock said. He put the papers in his bag and left.

At the weekend, he talked to his mum about it and she seemed eager for him to join. She said it would be good academically, but part of him wondered if she, like the teacher, thought it was more about making friends. At least his mum had finally stopped mentioning John -- it was too difficult to hear whatever news she was getting, and it was too difficult to think of writing him because Sherlock had no good news to share.

______________________________________________________

Finally, John gave up waiting for Sherlock. He focused on his studies, his sports, and his new friends. It was hard not to think about Sherlock at first -- whenever something good happened that was the first person he wanted to tell. But he wasn’t writing letters anymore. After his first date and his first girlfriend, he talked to the boys on his rugby team, the same way they talked to him and to each other. Slowly they became John’s go-to for advice.

The first time in a long time he thought about Sherlock again was when he realised he was falling for a boy. He’d had a few girlfriends and he still found them attractive, but he found this boy attractive too and he wanted to talk about that. He didn’t know how his team would react but when he got the nerve to mention it, no one seemed to care one way or the other. John started dating his first boyfriend.

Things were going really well until he started talking to his mum about it. She wasn’t upset about any of it, but a conversation they had put doubts in John’s head he couldn’t shake. She didn’t seem surprised at all that John was dating a boy. When John pressed her on it she admitted she assumed Sherlock and him would end up together. It surprised John -- he had never thought about Sherlock that way but then again they had been really young. When he went back to school after the weekend and kept seeing his boyfriend, he couldn’t stop seeing Sherlock, comparing them. They fought and eventually things ended.

John’s mind was drifting to Sherlock again, and he wondered if he should write another letter. But the thought of not getting a reply again was too much -- he didn’t want that disappointment so he didn’t write. He stopped dating and he threw himself into his extra-curriculars, playing rugby and going to tutoring to keep his grades up. That became his main focus as he tried to overpower the other thoughts trying to crowd into his head. They didn’t matter anymore.

______________________________________________________

Sherlock slid into the backseat of the van. Ellen slid in next to him. “No one else will say it, but you’re the reason we won,” she said.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He’d been hoping to be on his own for the ride back to school. He glanced over and she was still looking at him, which he knew meant he should say something else. “Your part was good.”

“Thanks,” she said. She slid her hand over and grabbed his hand. “I’m so glad we met.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do so he didn’t do anything.

When they got back to school, she dropped his hand as they got off the bus. “Let’s take a walk,” she said.

Sherlock followed her. When they got away from the other kids, she grabbed his hand again and leaned against him.

Sherlock still wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t hate it, but it was strange.

“What are you doing at Christmas?” she asked.

“My family’s going on a ski trip,” he said.

“Are you good at skiing too?” she asked excitedly.

“No,” he said. “I’ve never done it.”

“I love skiing,” she said. She led them to a little bench and they sat down. They were still holding hands.

“I like you a lot,” she said. “You’re so smart and cute.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said.

Ellen leaned in and kissed his mouth. He didn’t respond. It wasn’t a bad kiss, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. She turned and kissed him again. “You’re really sexy,” she said and moved her body closer to his.

Sherlock still didn’t know what to do. He didn’t like her compliments, and the kissing really didn’t make him feel anything.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling it around her.

He pressed his hand onto her back. He could feel her spine as she attempted to crawl onto his lap. She moved her mouth to his ear and made a little moan. “Say something,” she said.

“You’re very thin,” Sherlock said.

She looked confused but kissed him again.

“I’ve never done this,” he said stupidly.

“It’s okay,” Ellen said. “I have.”

“I don’t think --” Sherlock started. He turned his head away.

“What’s wrong?” she said. She sat straight up and looked at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, trying to move her away. “I don’t think we should . . .”

“It’s okay if you’re nervous. I was nervous for my first kiss.” She moved back to the side of him. “It’s all right. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t you like me?”

Sherlock didn’t know what the right answer to the question was.

“Don’t you like me?” she asked again. “I thought we were friends.”

“We can be friends,” Sherlock said. Ellen was the only one who had been nice to him at this school.

“But not more?”

“It’s not allowed,” he said. “Because of the team.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes,” Sherlock lied. “I think.”

“Whatever -- this is embarrassing,” Ellen said. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Let’s just act like it didn’t happen,” she said. She glanced over at him. “I was still your first kiss, though, right?”

“I guess you were,” Sherlock admitted. “Sorry if I was bad at it.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “Let’s not tell anyone about any of this, okay? We can just pretend it didn’t happen, okay, so the team doesn’t know.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said with relief.

“Anyway, maybe when the term’s over, we can try again.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said again.

“All right,” she said. “See you later,” she added as she got up.

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He stayed on the bench, wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say.

______________________________________________________

John had made a decision: he was going to study medicine. It seemed exciting, a fast paced job that would never be boring. He signed up for a program to shadow a surgeon for a day, and he learned about a specialty he fell in love with -- trauma surgeon. His mind was set on it, though it meant many years of study. Some of his classmates were going into the military -- the thought of it made John nervous, but it would him learn and pay for his education. His mum didn't like it at all, but she couldn't stop him from signing up. He had a clear view of his future.

With graduation approaching, he was eating lunch with his friends. Everyone was talking about summer plans and trips. John wasn't going anywhere fancy. He was going to look for a job and get himself ready for training.

"So you're really not going anywhere?" Todd asked.

John shook his head.

"You can come with us," said Todd. “I mean my family will be there, but it’ll be fun.”

John shrugged. "Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to get a job, I think.”

“Boring,” Chris said.

John rolled his eyes as they moved the conversation along. Just a few more days, and it all would be over.

______________________________________________________

“It’s important to your dad,” Sherlock’s mum said.

“I don’t want to,” he said into the phone. “Please -- I’m asking you to please not make me do this. I didn’t lie. I told you the truth about it, and I told you I don’t want to go. Please.”

“Let me talk to your dad and I’ll call you back,” she said.

Sherlock hung up the phone. He looked around his room. He was ready to leave. He was ready for this whole experience to end. He grabbed a box and started packing up his books.

The phone rang a half hour later. Sherlock took a deep breath and answered.

“All right,” she said. “We don’t have to go to the ceremony,” she said. “But we’re doing a dinner with your grandparents when we get back and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Sherlock exhaled. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Well, show your thanks by having everything packed when we get there.”

“Come tonight.”

“It’s just two days, Sherlock,” she said. “You’ve made it this far, two more days won’t matter.”

When they hung up, Sherlock spent the rest of the night packing. The next day he woke up and saw the pile of library books he’d found on his shelves. He packed them into two bags and headed off to the library. On the way back, he saw Jim and Ellen leaning against a tree, kissing. He kept his head down and turned.

“Sherlock!” Jim called. He and Ellen walked over.

“You coming to the party Friday?” Ellen asked.

“I’m going home early,” Sherlock said.

“Of course, you are,” Jim said with a smile. “You’ve never been normal -- why start now?”

Ellen gave Jim a little push but laughed with him.

“My grandmother died,” Sherlock said. He didn’t know why he hadn’t just walked away.

Jim laughed. “You are such a liar,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Sherlock said and turned to head back to his room. He could hear the two of them laughing as he walked away.

When he got back, he put all his clothes into his bags. He looked around the room -- boxes and bags. He sat down on the bed. He was ready to leave.


	5. Home

John's graduation was a whole production. His mum invited his whole family and when his name was called they cheered like maniacs even though they weren't supposed to. He couldn't help grinning, waving at them all. Afterwards they all had dinner at home, and then a big party that lasted into the night. He was happy. He went to bed soon after everyone left and decided not to set his alarm.

As Sherlock dragged himself from his sleep down the stairs, Sherlock’s mum smiled and said, “It’s nice to see that you’re alive.”

“I’ve not got anything to do,” he said, turning the kettle on. “No reason to get up early.”

“Seeing your family, being back home -- those things aren’t reason enough?” She ushered him to a chair and went to make tea. "Breakfast?"

Sherlock shook his head and made a little grumble.

“I don’t begrudge you a little time off,” she said, sliding a mug over to him. “That school was hard and you did very, very well.” She tousled his hair a little and sat down beside him. “That said, I’ve never known my son to do nothing for very long. You should make plans for the summer.”

“I know,” he said. “But don’t make me make them today, all right? It’s the first day.”

“All right,” she said. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before standing up. “I’m very glad you’re back, Sherlock.”

John woke up late, loving the idea that the whole day was his. He went down and had breakfast --his mum was already outside working in the yard, weeding and planting flowers. He watched her digging in the dirt and blinked as a memory came back to him. Sherlock and him digging in the flowers, burying a box of knick-knacks. He swallowed hard as he remembered that night, the plan they had.

They were supposed to unbury the box together, they were supposed to still be friends like they had been. John had promised nothing would change, had assured Sherlock they wouldn't drift apart. Sherlock hadn’t agreed with his optimism. It turned out Sherlock had been right. It made John feel sad on his first day of freedom, but it all seemed so long ago. He wondered if the box was still there.

Sherlock unpacked his things into his old room. It seemed so big compared to his room at school, but it also seemed weird, like the room of a little boy. He remembered playing army men with John -- he could barely picture himself ‘playing’ or even being a kid. All that felt so long ago.

Once he was finished, he went downstairs. He could see his parents out in the garden, so he made them a pot of tea and took it outside.

“That’s very kind of you,” his mum said, coming over and sitting down at the wooden table.

“Well,” Sherlock started, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

His dad patted his back as he sat down. “Everything seem the same around here?” he asked before pouring himself a cup.

Sherlock wasn’t sure if that meant he was supposed to have noticed something new in the garden.

“You glad to be home?” his dad added to clarify.

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“School never felt like home?” his dad asked. His mother gave him a look.

“Not really,” Sherlock said. He didn’t really want to talk about this -- he knew the school was expensive and his parents had good intentions when they sent him there. But Jim’s stupid face flashed in his mind so he added, “I’m glad I’m home.”

“Well, we’re glad as well,” his dad said. “What are you going to do with the summer?”

“Not sure yet,” Sherlock said. “Some experiments probably -- you haven’t emptied my shed, have you?”

“Your shed?” his mum asked. “That’s my shed that I was letting you use. But your things are still in there -- I haven’t touched any of that mess since you were in there last summer.”

“What about a job?” Sherlock’s dad asked.

“Maybe,” Sherlock said, getting up. “I’m going to tidy up my shed now.”

“No time,” his mum said. “Dinner’s at five -- I know it’s early, but you know your grandpa . . . you can play in the shed tomorrow.”

Sherlock held up his hand to acknowledge her and went back upstairs to get dressed.

John spent the rest of the day out of the house. He went for a run and bumped into some friends at the park. He met some friends for lunch and listened to their summer plans. They were a good laugh, but he found himself thinking about Sherlock again.

On the way home, he decided he needed to do something -- he didn’t want to let his old friendship with Sherlock ruin this summer. Something needed to be done.

He set out some dark clothes and found a shovel, stashing it between the bushes beside the house. They had dinner together that night, talking about the summer and his training coming up. He was still reassuring his mum about his joining the Army. When they finished eating, he did the dishes before he went up to his room. He watched a movie on his computer while he waited for them to go to bed.

Sherlock's grandparents fussed over him quite a bit at the restaurant, which was annoying but also nice in a way. They talked a bit about his brother who was somewhere abroad doing something important. He hoped his dad would not bring up the job thing again, afraid somehow his brother would get involved.

They drove home quietly. “You okay?” his mum asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “That was a nice dinner. Thanks.”

“Everyone is glad you’re home,” she said. She paused for a minute. “Speaking of that, have you spoken to John? I talked to his mum a few weeks ago -- he’s going into the Army.”

Sherlock’s breath caught and he wasn’t sure why. “Has he already left?” he asked quietly.

“Oh no, I don’t think he’s leaving for a while,” she said.

“Well, we’re not really friends anymore . . .” he mumbled.

She started to speak and then stopped. They pulled into the drive and when Sherlock got out, he said, “I think I’m going to go up to my room to read,” and went upstairs, shutting his door behind him.

When John was sure his mum was sleeping, he put on the black clothes and quietly left the house. He grabbed the shovel but then realised his bike was locked in the shed. He decided to walk instead, getting more and more nervous as he got closer.

The house looked just the same. The light in Sherlock's room was on and his stomach tightened. He almost turned around and left. But he’d walked all the way here so he was going to go through with it. He went to the spot under the bedroom window and started slowly, quietly digging.

Sherlock was sitting at his desk, staring at his school’s webpage. They had posted pictures of the graduation celebration, and for some reason, he was looking at every single one. He saw Ellen, who looked very pretty. He saw a few of Jim. He shut his laptop and lay down on his bed. The house was quiet. He leaned over and turned off his lamp. Now he knew the house was dark as well. Darkness and quiet were things he liked, but what he really wanted was for it to feel like home again. It didn’t yet, and that made him angry at the world.

He sat up and slid his hand behind his bed, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. His mum didn’t like the smoking; at Christmas she’d made him go outside, but he didn’t want to leave his room. He slid open his window and lit one, exhaling it into the cooler night air.

John heard the window and froze, moving close to the house. He glanced up and saw Sherlock leaning out of the window with a cigarette. John bit his lip. He looked good. He was handsome, his dark hair a bit longer now, the curls falling around his face. John didn't know when he started smoking, but, in a strange way, it just made him look better somehow. He forced his eyes away and crouched down, still against the house. He kept digging, his movements very slow now. The slice of the shovel in the dirt sounded a hundred times louder. He kept glancing up, each time for longer and longer. He tried to shift a bit and almost dropped the shovel. "Shit," he hissed, then pressed against the house again. There was no cover. He just closed his eyes and hoped that Sherlock hadn’t heard him.

Sherlock heard a noise and looked down. He could tell there was someone there, and his first thought was to get his parents. But he didn’t. He leaned out a little further and looked down. “John, is that you?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

John closed his eyes and tried to pretend no one was there, but that was stupid. He moved away from the wall and looked up. "Yeah, it’s me," he said.

"Why?" Sherlock asked because his brain hadn't completely processed what was happening yet.

"I..." John looked at the shovel in his hand and the slightly destroyed plants. "I was digging up our -- " he paused. “I was digging up the box.”

Sherlock stood still for a minute. "Hold on," he said. He moved quietly out of his room, down the stairs, and out the back. He came around to the side of the house where John was standing with a shovel.

John looked different. Older, not a kid anymore. He looked stronger and very handsome. But his eyes, when Sherlock's met them, were the same.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked him.

"Because it’s time," John said. "We had decided we’d do it now, so here I am." He shrugged and looked down at the small mound he'd made already.

"Why didn't you . . . why are you doing it by yourself?"

"I didn't know if you remembered. Or wanted to." He looked up at Sherlock again, studied his face. "I was afraid you might have moved it a long time ago."

"We said we wouldn't do anything with it unless we were together -- of course, I remember," Sherlock said. He glanced down at the hole. "If you're going to continue, it's a bit closer to the bush," he said, pointing.

"Well, get your shovel then," he said.

"I don't want to wake them," Sherlock said, glancing up. "Give me yours and I'll dig for a bit."

John moved closer and passed him the shovel.

Sherlock started to dig. After a few minutes, he said, "You done with school then?"

John nodded. "Yeah. I'm going into the military, actually."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, stopping and looking over.

John shrugged. "It’ll give me good experience -- I’m going to be a surgeon. And it’ll be pretty exciting," he said.

"Has your life been exciting?" Sherlock asked, going back to digging.

"Some of it," he said. "How has yours been?"

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “Here, you work for a bit,” he added, giving John the shovel.

John waited for more but Sherlock didn't elaborate. He started digging again, pushing the shovel deep.

Sherlock knelt down and used his hands to push away more dirt as John moved the shovel after each dig. Finally, he said, “I can feel it -- use the shovel at the side to pry it out.”

John used the shovel and carefully pushed, tilting it so the box lifted out of the dirt.

Sherlock pulled it out and brushed it off. He looked over at John who was now bent down as well. He looked closely at his face, and he thought he could see his friend there. “Do you remember the combination?” he asked, pushing the box toward John.

John nodded, starting to flip through the numbers. "Our birthdays," he said, glancing at Sherlock. Did he remember? John couldn't read his face. When the lock came off, he passed it back to Sherlock again.

Sherlock lifted the top and looked at the items in the box. He pulled out a few army men and handed them to John. “These are yours,” he said.

John took the men and looked through each one, biting his lip as he craned to see what else was in there.

Sherlock pulled out the mug and said, “I was looking for this last year -- I guess I forgot I put it in here.” He set it down next to him. He pulled out two photographs. Of course, he could remember everything about the two days they’d been taken. He could remember everything. He wiped a hand under his eye and put the photos back in the box. “Here’s your film,” he said, handing it over to John.

"Can I see the pictures?" John asked, setting the movie down.

Sherlock handed John the photos. “Those were good days,” he mumbled.

John looked and each one and nodded. "I know."

“It’s been so long . . .”

“I wrote you letters -- didn’t you get them?”

“I did. I read them and I kept them,” Sherlock said. “It was just too hard to write back and tell you . . . that I hated everything there when everything that happened to you seemed good. I didn’t want you to know that all those kids from our school were right. That you were better off without me.”

"I wasn't, though. I was sad. I missed you," John said.

Sherlock wiped his hands over his face again. “We should tidy this up,” he said, getting to his feet. He pushed the box to the side. “Let’s go to the shed for a minute, okay?” he said and nodded toward the shovel.

"Okay," John said, draping the shovel over his shoulder.

Sherlock picked up the box and turned to walk toward the shed. He opened the lock and let them both inside. He set the box on his table and then turned on the little light. He looked around -- his things were still there but his mum had added stuff for the garden. He shifted a few things and found the stools. “There’s no tea or anything,” he said, feeling a bit stupid.

"That's okay," John said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sherlock said.

"I don't either," John said. "Are you busy this summer?"

“No,” Sherlock said. “Well, I don’t know quite what I’m doing yet. I just wanted a few days to come down from it all and then I’ll decide. You?”

"I was thinking of getting a job,” John said. He paused before suggesting, “Maybe we could do something together.”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I just don't like how we drifted apart." He was looking around the room instead of at Sherlock.

“I didn’t like it either,” Sherlock said. “But it happened. Would you rather just leave things as they are? We can do that if you want.”

John looked at Sherlock now. "No. Do you want to leave things like this?"

“Obviously, no,” Sherlock said. “But you’ve got other things now . . . other people.”

John shrugged. "That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Maybe we could go somewhere for a couple days. Just do something normal.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Sherlock asked.

"What? Of course not. Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m not normal, John -- you are,” Sherlock said. “You always have been and now you have normal friends to be normal around and you’ll get a normal job and you’ll go on to have a normal life.” He couldn’t meet John’s eyes but pushed the box toward him.

"What are you talking about? I always liked hanging out with you."

“When we were kids maybe . . .”

"Yeah. But I want to now, too."

Sherlock looked over cautiously. “I want that, too. . .” he said quietly.

"So let's go. We'll rent a car and go somewhere," he said. "Somewhere fun.”

“Did you learn to drive?” Sherlock asked.

"No, I hoped you had," John smiled. "We’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. He looked over. “Are you the same, do you think?” he asked.

John shook his head. "I don't think anyone really is," he said. "We've grown up."

“You still kind of look like the same,” Sherlock said with a little smile.

John smiled. "You too," he said.

“Do I?” Sherlock asked.

“Not really -- you’re a lot taller.”

“I feel older, I guess.”

John smiled. "So . . . let’s do a little trip together. Find out how much we’ve changed.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “All right, yeah,” he said. “We should plan something, I mean.” He paused for a moment. “Does your mum know you’re here?”

"Not right this second," he said. "I finally snuck out -- I guess that’s something that has changed.”

“Are you going to stay for a while? You can -- we could go upstairs or stay here,” Sherlock said.

"Yeah. Maybe we can watch a film or something, like the old days," John said.

Sherlock grabbed the box and retrieved the lock for the shed. “You can lean your shovel outside and then take it when you go,” he added as he moved to the door.

John put the shovel against the house as he followed Sherlock inside. Everything was exactly the same as he remembered it. "When did you start smoking?" he asked softly.

“A few years ago,” Sherlock said, shutting his door quietly. “When did you start drinking?” he asked as he sat down on the bed.

John blinked at him. "I don't -- I mean, not all the time," he said.

“Well, I don’t smoke all the time either,” Sherlock said. “Did you keep playing sports?” he asked.

"Yeah, I was the captain of the rugby team," he said.

“I knew you would be,” Sherlock said with a smile. “You were way better than Thomas -- I would’ve loved to have seen his face when you were chosen. Did your team win a lot or whatever?”

"We did win a lot," he said. "We were really good. I wish you could have come see us."

“I never understood all that,” Sherlock said. “But I’m sure you were good.”

John nodded. "Did you play cricket or anything?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Our school had a science team, and I participated in that.”

"I'm sure you were great," John said.

“I’ll find a film for us to watch or something,” Sherlock said awkwardly. He got his laptop from his desk and started looking at the web. “What do you like now?”

“Hold on,” John said. "Can I see the letter from the box? You said I could read it when we opened it."

Sherlock looked over. “I guess, if you want,” he said.

John took the letter from Sherlock and opened it carefully. 

> _Dear Sherlock, aged 17,_
> 
> _Note: Mycroft, if you are reading this, stop._
> 
> _Well, Sherlock, by now it is likely you have proof that you are incredibly smart -- much smarter than your brother who is probably in jail at this point. Congratulations. You were right all along._
> 
> _Your best friend John should be standing beside you as you open this, presuming that he hasn’t run off to join the circus. Hopefully, he is still unaware that he was actually raised in the jungle by monkeys and rescued by the people he thought were his real parents. He probably thinks he’s just good at performing with animals. Remember that you promised Mr and Mrs Watson to never tell. I know it’s been difficult -- when he goes on and on about sports, it’s tempting to put him in his place, but hopefully you’ve kept quiet._
> 
> _You and John are now getting ready to go off to Oxford. I’m praying that John is now over the habit of farting in his sleep, so you’ll be able to handle being roommates. If not, the formula in the box might be able to help silence him._
> 
> _Now that you’re older, you will have to stop doing kid stuff like burying boxes and digging stuff up. Instead you’ll need to focus on working and studying and drinking whiskey and keeping John Watson in line. Don’t worry -- you’ll probably be much better at being a grown up than you were being a little kid._
> 
> _Sherlock, aged 11_

John read through the letter, biting his lip as he fought a smile. "Did you even like me when you wrote this?" he asked when he finished.

Sherlock took the letter and reread it, reminding himself. “Well, the whole thing’s pretty much about you,” he said.

"Yeah, but it’s not very nice," John teased.

“But mostly true, though, I guess I got the future wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean -- we’re not going to university together,” Sherlock said.

John nodded. "Yeah. I have to take a little detour," he said.

“Right,” Sherlock said. “Any of your friends going with you?”

"Just one," John said.

“Your best friend?”

John looked up again. "Not really."

“Your girlfriend?”

"I don't have one right now," he said.

“But you have had one?”

"A couple," he said. "What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

“No, of course not,” Sherlock said. “I wasn’t interested in that.”

"Oh. Never?"

“Never,” Sherlock said. “Someone kissed me once, though. I wasn’t interested.”

"Oh. Well, maybe you just haven't found the right person."

“I concentrated on my studies -- did you really think I would change that much?”

"No, but that sort of thing isn't about changing," he said.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock said. “Before I never liked anyone but you. Did you really think that would change?”

"I don’t know," John said. John thought about what his mother had once said about them but pushed it away quickly.

Sherlock shifted on the bed. “How have you changed then?” he asked.

John shrugged as he got out of his own head. "I don't know that either," he said. "You'll have to tell me."

“I’m worried about that,” Sherlock admitted. “What if we go on this trip and you’re totally different?”

"Then we cancel and come home," John said. “What if you’re totally different?”

“I’m not,” Sherlock said. Then he looked over. “Is that going to happen, John?” Sherlock said. “Have you changed so much?” He was worried. This was what he’d worried about at school -- that too much time had passed and that when he saw John again, things would be so different and would prove that there was no one in the world that Sherlock could be close to.

"I don't think so," John said. "Let's just see, okay?"

“All right,” Sherlock said. “I still trust you . . . though you were trying to steal my secret formula,” he added, trying to lighten things.

John raised his brows and smiled. "I'll get it sooner or later."

“Are we watching a film or what?” Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, okay," John said. "Um, on the bed like we used to or no?"

Sherlock turned. “Yeah,” he said. “Unless you do it differently now.”

"No. I was just asking."

“Well, just . . . be normal,” Sherlock said. He set the laptop on his desk chair and tried to get comfortable. “I’m glad you came by,” he said quietly. “I wish you’d done it differently, but I wish everything was different.” He paused for a minute before adding, “I’m sorry I didn’t write back.”

John nodded slowly. "We were busy," he said lamely.

“True, but . . . it was too hard. I’m not good with saying things, feelings,” Sherlock said. “I missed you.”

"I missed you, too," John said.

Sherlock kept his eyes on the film, but he didn’t feel quite settled. It was like he wanted more -- some words or actions as proof that things would feel the same again, so he could be sure that John was still his best friend.

John lay beside Sherlock. Even with the movie going things seemed too quiet. Awkward. When it was over, he shifted and got up. "I should go home now."

“But you still want us to go on this trip, right?” Sherlock asked. “Will you come by tomorrow . . . my mum would like to see you, I think.”

"Okay. I'll come by proper and knock on the door and everything," he promised.

“Just come for breakfast first so we can sort out the details,” Sherlock said. It was strange being back in the house but not really being under his parents’ control anymore. He knew he didn’t really have to ask permission, but John’s surprise visit had thrown him and he’d need to think about things clearly. “That work?”

John nodded.

“Don’t forget your stuff,” Sherlock said, grabbing the stuff from the edge of the bed. “And your shovel outside. Look,” he said, quietly. “I’m glad you came by.”

John took his stuff. "Um..." He stepped forward and hugged Sherlock a bit awkwardly. "I'm glad you caught me. See you tomorrow," he said, turning to leave quickly.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but followed him downstairs to make sure he got out. He locked the door behind him and went upstairs to his bedroom. He had a lot of thinking to do.


	6. Plans

In the morning, Sherlock was up before anyone else. He went downstairs and put the kettle on, making a pot of tea. He took a mug out to the back garden where he smoked a cigarette, finishing right before his mother appeared.

“This is a change,” she said. “Up early and doing something nice for your parents.” She lifted his cup to thank him.

“Well, I am quite a nice person,” he said, picking up his own cup and taking a sip. “Maybe you forgot that.”

“I did no such thing,” she said with a smile. She sat down next to him. “So what are your plans for the day?”

“John’s going to come over,” he said, staring into the garden without really looking at anything.

“John who?” his mum asked.

“John Watson,” he said. “Obviously. We’re thinking of going on a little trip.”

“When did all this happen?” she asked, trying not to appear too curious.

“We talked last night,” he said. He took another sip, but still didn’t look over at her. “Do you think that’s a stupid idea?”

She paused as if thinking. “Do you?” she asked.

He glanced over and gave her a look. “I asked you first,” he said.

“Fine, I’ll answer,” she said. “I think seeing John again would be a very good idea. I always wanted you to . . . well, I just think you and John belong together so I’m glad to hear you’re talking again.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “What about this trip? It was his idea . . . should I go?” he asked. “He didn’t choose a place or anything yet.”

“I think it sounds like it could be fun,” she said. “I know you don’t think fun is your thing, but you must admit, you and John used to have fun together.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, remembering. “Well, we’ll see -- he’s going to come by soon and we can talk about it,” he said. He grabbed his mug and stood up. “I’m going to go shower,” he said. “Thanks . . . for the talk.”

“Thanks for the tea,” she said. As he walked away, she smiled.

John hardly slept that night. When he got home he got on the computer to find some ideas for a quick trip. He printed a lot of different things out before he finally fell asleep. In the morning he came down to his mum making breakfast. 

"I didn't expect you yet, I didn't make enough. What would you like?" she asked. 

"No, it’s okay. I'm going to Sherlock's for breakfast."

"What? When did you see him?"

"We ran into each other yesterday. We're going to go on a little trip once we sort the details.” She seemed to want to ask a hundred more questions, but he hurried out of the kitchen and headed to Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock headed down and let John in. As soon as he saw him, he smiled. It felt like it used to. “We should say hello to my mum -- I think she missed you,” he said, leading him through the house out to the back.

His mum was now trimming one of the bushes. She smiled when she saw John and came over to the table. “It’s lovely to see you, John,” she said. “Let me get you some lemonade or something.”

“I’ll get it,” Sherlock said and quickly disappeared back into the kitchen.

“He’s been doing a lot of little favours for some reason,” she said, sitting down. “So . . . how have you been?” 

"I've been okay, just keeping busy with school," he said. "How have you been?"

“Fine,” she said. “So have you and Sherlock been planning this trip long?”

“Here you go,” Sherlock interrupted as he returned. He carried a tray with three glasses of lemonade. He sat down at the table. “What were you talking about?” he asked.

“John was just telling me about school,” she said quickly, glancing at John. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone -- let me know if you get hungry and I can make some lunch.” She got up and took her lemonade with her.

“Did you get in trouble for going out last night?” Sherlock asked once she was out of earshot.

"No," he smiled. "I'm an adult now." He took a big swig of lemonade and pulled out the rolled papers from his pocket. "I printed some ideas."

“All right,” Sherlock said. “I don’t think we should go far actually -- I mean, not across the country or anything. I’ve only just come back, I mean.”

"We don't have to go far. Do any of these sound good?" He asked. “We could become tourists for a few days.”

“Well, look, I haven’t asked her yet or anything, but I was thinking that maybe we could go to this little place by my grandparents’ house. I think there’s a little cottage or something -- maybe we could stay there?”

"That sounds cool," John said. "Is there anything to do around there?"

“I can’t really remember,” Sherlock said. “We went when I was really little. Let’s go ask my mum.”

They got up and went into the kitchen.

“Hungry already?” she asked.

Sherlock looked over at John. “Maybe,” he said. “But mainly we wanted to ask about that cottage at Grandmother’s house? The one we stayed in when I was little -- do you think we could use that?”

“Um, possibly,” she said. “But you might be misremembering. It’s not a cottage, more of a cabin -- it’s quite . . . rustic, are you sure you want to stay there? Wouldn’t you rather go to a B and B or something?”

“We’re just coming up with ideas,” Sherlock said. “Are there things to do around there?”

“Well, there’s that little woods and I think there might be a small lake or something, but it’s not far from the village,” she said. “Do you remember any of it?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

John shrugged. "I think the cabin will be nice," he said. "It sounds peaceful."

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. He looked over at his mum. “Can you call her or should I?” he asked.

“You can,” she said. “But I will if you want -- when do you want to go?”

“When should we go?” he asked John.

"This week?" John asked.

“All right,” Sherlock said. “Will you call?” he asked his mum.

“Yes, I’ll call,” she said. She disappeared out of the room.

“Let’s go back outside and wait to see what she says,” Sherlock said. He poured them each some more lemonade and they went outside. He lit up a cigarette. “Didn’t you say you were getting a job or something?” he asked.

"When we get back, I’ll get one," he said. "You shouldn't do that, you know."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Are you going to be nagging me the entire trip?” he asked.

"I'm not nagging. I'm just saying," John said. "You can do what you want."

Suddenly, Sherlock was struck with an urge to tell John off -- remind him that for the last few years he had been doing what he wanted because John wasn’t there beside him. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “I know that.”

His mum broke the tension by coming out to the garden. Sherlock quickly dropped his cigarette into his lemonade glass.

“Don’t do that, Sherlock, it’s disgusting,” she said. “I spoke to your grandparents -- you can use the cabin. You’ll need to take sleeping bags, towels, and food, but the electrics work so you should be fine. When you two have decided when you’re going, let me and your father know, please.” She left them alone.

“Well?” Sherlock asked. “You still into it?”

"Yeah, I'm still into it," John said. "

“When should we go? If it’s ready now, should we go tomorrow?”

"I can be ready by tomorrow," John said. 

“All right then,” Sherlock said. “Do you care if I ask my parents to just drive us there? It seems stupid to waste money on a taxi."

"Yeah, that’d be fine," he said.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?”

"Okay,” John said. “I could never say no to your mum's food."

“We don’t have any leftovers,” Sherlock said. “I was thinking I could make you something.” He got up from the chair. “I had to take a cooking class at school.” He led them inside and look through the cupboards. “I don’t know how to make anything complicated,” he said. “And I can’t guarantee how good it’ll taste.” He pulled some things from the fridge. “Did you have to take any stupid classes?”

"Public speaking," John said. "I hated it. But I felt like they were all stupid. I just wanted to do the cool medical stuff."

“I bet you were good at it,” Sherlock said. “I never did public speaking -- even when we went to science competitions, I didn’t do the talking.”

"I passed, I suppose, but I didn't like it at all," he said. 

“Did you do well in all your other classes?”

"Mostly. Chemistry gave me trouble," John said. 

Sherlock looked down. He finished cutting the vegetables and dumped them into a pot. He turned on the heat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help,” he said, without turning round.

"Were you good at chemistry? I know you were on the science team, but was that your specialty?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Very good at it actually.” He moved to the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”

"Just some water for now," he said. "I’m glad you did the science team, Sherlock. It sounds cool."

“It was stupid really,” he said. “Do you care if see if my parents want lunch?”

"It’s not stupid," John insisted.

“Mum! I made lunch,” Sherlock called loudly.

His mother came into the room. “I didn’t miss the shouting,” she said. She moved over to the oven. “What are you making?”

“It’s just soup,” Sherlock said, moving over and moving her away. “Leave it alone -- it’ll be done in a minute.”

“I’ve not missed the bossiness either,” she said. She grabbed some bowls and sat down next to John. “You still want to go to the cabin with someone so shouty and bossy?”

John smiled. "I think I can handle it," he said. 

Sherlock brought two bowls over to the table. “Here,” he said. He sat down next to John.

“Aren’t you going to have some?” his mother asked.

“I don’t like this kind,” he said. 

They sat and talked for a little while. His mother said they’d be happy to give them a ride to the cabin and made some suggestions about things to take. 

John was making a mental list of what he would need. "Should I walk here in the morning?" he asked.

“We’ll come get you,” Sherlock’s mum said. “Sherlock, the soup’s lovely. Have you got any good camping recipes?”

“We don’t have to cook out over a fire, do we? I don’t remember that.”

“There’s a small oven, but cooking over the fire could be fun,” she said, winking at John. “I thought you might want to show off your skills.”

“I don’t have skills,” Sherlock said. “If you keep mocking me, I will never cook again. Besides, John likes pizza so we can just order pizza.”

“You won’t be able to have it delivered out there!”

“Fine,” he said looking over at John. “Eat well tonight because apparently we won’t have anything to eat while we’re away.”

John laughed. "We should take sausages for over the fire. And marshmallows."

“Just don’t burn down the cabin,” Sherlock’s mum said. 

“We’re adults now,” Sherlock said. 

“So you say,” his mum said, getting up and taking her bowl to the kitchen. “Thank you for the soup, Sherlock. Leave the things -- I’ll do the washing up.”

Sherlock looked at John. “Do you need to go home or do you want to do something?” he asked.

"I want to pack. Do you want to come over?"

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “My mum said she wanted to talk to me about something, I think.”

"Oh, all right. Well, I'll see you in the morning then."

“Before you go,” Sherlock said, reaching out for his arm. “Do you have a mobile phone? Can I have the number?”

"Of course,” John said. “Give me your phone and I'll put it in." 

Sherlock grabbed his phone and gave it to John.

John entered his number and then called himself, so he would have Sherlock's. "Here you go," he said. 

“Call me if you change your mind or anything,” Sherlock said as they walked to the door.

"I won't," John said. "Change my mind, I mean. See you tomorrow," he added.

“See you tomorrow,” Sherlock said, closing the door. He stood there for a second, trying to decide what he felt he needed to do before the trip, but it felt like there were too many things in his head. He made a cup of tea and took it to the garden to have a cigarette.

John walked back home and went up to his room to start packing. He was excited for the trip, but he was nervous. They had changed and he was worried the trip would be awkward -- what if they couldn't be like before? Different didn't have to mean bad but he was still nervous about it. 

Sherlock’s mum came out into the garden a while later. “Where’s John?” she asked.

“He’s gone home,” Sherlock answered.

“Did you have an argument?”

“No,” Sherlock said defensively. “It’s fine.” He looked over at her. “Do you think it’s fine?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think this trip is a good idea?” he said.

She didn’t answer; she could see he was struggling with something and hoped that he could talk it out.

“I just mean, what if we do have an argument?” he continued. “What if he’s become like the kids at school . . .”

“Has he given you any evidence of that?” she asked.

“No,” Sherlock admitted. “But he’s changed.”

“Sherlock, you’ve changed as well,” she said softly. “It’s called growing up. You’ve both done it.”

“I haven’t changed,” Sherlock said. “I’m older obviously, but I’m still me.”

She smiled. “Maybe John is still John, just an older version,” she suggested. “I think you two have known each other long . . . you owe him the chance to find out whether or not you can still be best friends.”

She watched him thinking. Eventually he said, “You’re right, I suppose. But if something goes wrong, will you come pick us up straight away if I call?”

“Of course,” she said, getting up. “Go get the sleeping bags out of the cupboard now so you can put them through the wash.”

He got up to follow her. Once the bags were found, he began to pack his own things.


	7. The First Day of the Trip

In the morning John was down in the kitchen early, having a small breakfast and watching his phone. He didn't know what time Sherlock would be coming over. All of his things were piled by the door. 

Sherlock also woke up early, checking his things before he headed downstairs. His mum and dad were having coffee outside, so he went out to say he was ready. They were both smiling in a way that made him feel like they’d been talking about him, but he didn’t ask to confirm. They said they’d be leaving in the afternoon, so he texted John to let him know.

When they got to John’s house, Sherlock’s mum insisted on coming up to the door with him since she wanted to give John’s parents the details. It was kind of embarrassing, and Sherlock was already tense enough.

John answered the door and called for him mum. He watched Sherlock the whole time, sharing in the embarrassment.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew where they were going,” Sherlock’s mum told John’s, handing her a piece of paper. “My parents aren’t too far away if they run into any trouble,” she added. 

Sherlock glanced at John and rolled his eyes before grabbing one of this bags and turning to leave. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled to John.

"It’s okay. Parents," he said, rolling his eyes too. 

Sherlock put John’s stuff in the boot and then climbed into the back seat. “That was embarrassing, Mum,” he said.

She waved her hand to dismiss him, so he turned to John and said, “We brought some food and two sleeping bags and towels and stuff. We should be fine.”

"Okay. I have extra clothes and some snacks," John said. 

A few minutes into the drive, Sherlock’s mum started to narrate what they were passing -- she’d always done this, even John had witnessed it before. Sherlock watched out the window, recognising some of the things going by. Once they turned off the main road, though, he knew they must be close to the cabin since nothing was familiar.

When they pulled up, the building seemed smaller than he remembered, but it looked safe. They got out of the car and started loading up their arms. “Seem okay?” he asked John.

"It looks okay. Did you come here a lot?" he asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “I really can only remember just once.”

“We came a couple times when you were a baby,” his mum said. “Back when we were young and thought it was fun to sleep on cots. Then we realised beds were a million times better, and we stopped coming.” She winked at Sherlock’s dad.

She headed up to the door and bent down to the find the key her mother had left under the mat. She unlocked the door and then turned to give Sherlock the key. “Don’t lose this,” she said and then led them inside.

It was basically one big room with a kind of sofa against one wall and a few chairs and a bookcase against the other. At the rear were two doors, one for the bathroom and one leading to the back garden. One corner was a little kitchen space with a table, on which set a vase of flowers. “Grandma’s been by to tidy,” Sherlock’s mum said. “Make sure it’s as tidy when you leave.”

“We will,” Sherlock said, setting his stuff down on a chair. “What do you think?” he asked John.

"It looks great," John said. "We'll keep it looking that way," he promised. 

“All right, we’re leaving,” Sherlock’s dad said. “Call us when you’re ready to be picked up but don’t call us if there’s a problem -- solve the problem. You’re both smart young men -- don’t hassle us, all right?” He gave them a smile and grabbed Sherlock’s mum’s hand.

They walked his parents out and then headed back in. Sherlock sat down on the sofa. “Our trip begins now, I suppose,” he said. “Are you hungry? What food did you bring?”

"Just some granola bars and cereal and things like that -- nothing for the fridge," John said. "Want to go explore the forest?"

“Let’s,” Sherlock said. He got up and put some food from the bags into the fridge. Then he let them out, locking the door behind them and sticking the key as deep in his pocket as he could. “Let’s go around the back and see if there are any paths and if we want to follow them.”

"Okay. We can talk about everything we've missed," John suggested. "If you want."

Sherlock kind of nodded, but he wasn’t sure how that would work. There wasn’t really a path in the back, but there was one place where the greenery seemed clearer so they headed down that. “Do you want to go first -- catching up or whatever?” he asked.

"Well, I played a lot of rugby. It was my main extra curricular," he said. "I didn't like much else. I didn't make many friends who weren't on the team," he admitted. 

“Did they still like you even when you were the captain?” Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't they?"

“You were always better than them, and then you were kind of the boss of them,” Sherlock said. “I’m sure you were nice because you always are, but other people can be jerks.”

"Well, we were all still a team," he said. "It wasn't bad."

“Good,” Sherlock said. “That’s it then? Rugby sums up your entire education?”

"No. Like I said, I struggled in chemistry, but I did really well in biology. Everything else was just average," he said. He thought for a moment. "I suppose trying to explain it all it doesn't seem like much. But when it was happening . . . I wanted to share everything with you."

That made Sherlock relax a little. “I know. I wanted to share it all with you. I never stopped wanting you to be there,” he confessed.

"Why didn't you call me?" John asked. 

“Will you promise not to be angry if I tell you the truth?”

"I won't be angry," he said.

“I’ve thought about it a lot obviously, about why it happened like it did,” Sherlock said. “I thought about it last night.” He looked up, looking at nothing really as they walked. “I was angry and hurt and embarrassed,” he said. It was entirely honest.

"About what?" John asked carefully. He was curious, but he didn't want to scare Sherlock off from talking. 

“About my having to be there alone,” Sherlock said. He paused for a minute. “I never fit in, John. I never liked it.”

"I'm sorry. When I said it would be okay, I really did believe it. I really thought you'd find kids with more in common with you than I ever had and it would be fine. I'm sorry I was wrong." 

“You were wrong,” Sherlock said softly. “There wasn’t anyone who even came close to you.”

John looked over at him. "No one was like you, either. They didn't even like sleepovers," he said, smiling a bit. 

“I haven’t had a sleepover since that last night. I guess we’re going to make up for it with this trip,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Do you still fart all night?”

"I never did!" John laughed, pushing him lightly.

“My face was right by it,” Sherlock said. “It was traumatic.” He gave John a push back.

John laughed. "Whatever! I don't need this abuse," he said in mock offense. 

“Anything else you want to tell me or do you feel we’re all caught up now?” Sherlock asked.

"Hmm. I can't think of anything right this second. Now you go," he said. 

“I don’t know what to say, John,” Sherlock admitted. “Oh, when I was fifteen I had my appendix removed. That’s it, I guess.”

"That's all?" he asked. "I feel like I missed a lot more."

“I don’t know what else to say -- I went to class and I went back to my room. I did the science team and I once got in trouble for stealing something from the chem lab,” Sherlock said.

"What did you take? Were you doing one of your experiments?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Well, it wasn’t for an experiment actually. It was . . . for nothing. For fun, I guess. I was bored.”

"Did you ever blow anything up?"

“Not on purpose,” Sherlock said. “I mean, no -- it was proper science, not kid stuff.” They walked a little bit more. “A girl did kiss me, though. I wasn’t lying about that.”

"I remember you mentioned that. I didn't think you were lying. It sounded like you didn't like it."

“I don’t think I did,” Sherlock said. “I didn’t hate the act of kissing -- maybe it would have been okay if I’d like the person, but seeing as how I don’t really like anyone, I’m not in a hurry to do it again, I guess.”

John nodded, putting his hands into his pockets as they walked through the woods. "I suppose that's everything, then? It seems odd. I feel like I had a lot more in my letters."

Sherlock stopped for a minute. “Obviously there’s more -- I mean it’s been six years, John,” he said. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to choose what to tell you. Most of my experiences at school were not very good -- I don’t want to list them out to remind you of all the bad things about me. I’m not trying to keep secrets or make a big deal. If something comes up -- like if something happens and I have experience with it or whatever -- I will tell you. I just don’t know what to say.”

"Okay, sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you were hiding anything on purpose. I feel the same way. I know there's more to tell but my mind is blank right now, trying to think about it all."

“Okay,” Sherlock said. He looked around. “Do you want to keep walking? Are you too hot?”

"I'm okay, but we can start heading back if you want. I could use a snack," he smiled. 

Sherlock turned. He could barely make out the roof of the cabin through the trees. “Don’t eat all our food in the first hour,” he teased.

"I'll try," John smiled. "I have an athlete's appetite, you know."

“Right, but you won’t be playing any rugby while we’re here, so pace yourself,” Sherlock said. The walk back seemed quicker, and Sherlock let them back into the cabin. “I’m going to make tea -- eat whatever you want.”

John grabbed a couple granola bars and sat at a chair in the kitchen watching Sherlock move around the kitchen. "Did your science team go to different schools to compete?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said, bringing two cups over and sitting down. “Some of our tournaments were in university labs. It was sometimes interesting, I suppose, but it wasn’t something people came to watch or whatever.”

"I would have come," he said. "I'd have sneaked in.”

“That would have made things worse,” Sherlock said. “The teacher was all right, I guess.”

"Why would it have made things worse?" John asked. 

“Well, because there was no audience and if you’d shown up, the rest of them probably would’ve assumed I was paying you to be my friend,” Sherlock said. “It was easier to just not really be noticed -- and they would’ve definitely noticed you.”

"Well, I could have stood in the hall or something, just to be there for support. And no one would have thought that because I would have come to all of them. They would have known we were friends." He watched Sherlock, feeling a bit sad that people would think he was paying for friends. 

Sherlock smiled. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said. “You’re still the only nice person I know.”

John smiled softly. "Well, you're still the best person I know so . . ." he trailed off and sipped his tea for something to do.

“Your other friends -- they’re nice to you, though, right?”

"Yeah," John admitted.

“But they didn’t help you with your chemistry?”

John laughed. "No. They were worse than I was," he said. 

"Should we unpack a little?" Sherlock asked, getting up. "Maybe we should get ready for bed. Do you want to sleep on the floor in the sleeping bags or you could take the sofa and I'll see if I can find a cot or something?"

"We can sleep on the floor together," John said. "I don't mind."

Sherlock grabbed one of the sleeping bags and threw it to John. Then he lifted his bag and started unpacking. He left his clothes in the bad, but grabbed some books and toiletries. There was no real place to store them, so he set them on the little table at the side of the sofa.

Looking around John decided to leave everything in his bag. "I'll get it as I need it, I think."

“You hiding something in there?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

John shrugged and just smiled suspiciously. "Maybe."

“Hmm . . . would it be safer for me if I slept in the shower? I don’t want you to do anything to me in my sleep.”

“You never know . . .” John said.

“Whatever,” Sherlock said. “I have nothing to hide from you, and I’ll take my chances in the dark.” He pulled his cigarettes out of his bag. “I’m going to go outside and have one of these.”

"If you must," John said. 

Sherlock stepped out back and lit a cigarette. A wooden chair was leaning up against the building, so he opened it up and sat down. He wished he brought a cup of tea out now. He inhaled deeply and tipped his head, blowing the smoke up toward the sky.

So far things were going okay. There was a part of him that wished John would stop asking about school, as if not mentioning meant they hadn’t spent those years apart. He knew that was stupid. There were moments, though, when he forgot about the things that had happened at school, and things felt the same as they had before he left. He hoped that would keep happening.

He sensed movement and slowly looked up. Through the trees he could see a deer. He moved slowly, slipping his phone from his pocket.

_Come out. Be quiet. SH_

John picked up his phone and furrowed his brows at the message. He walked normally to the door but through the window he saw the deer and froze, taking careful steps and being very quiet as he moved next to Sherlock. He watched the deer. 

“You see it?” Sherlock whispered.

John nodded. "Yes," he breathed. 

Suddenly the deer darted off. “That was cool,” Sherlock said, finishing his cigarette and then stubbing it out on a brick in the path. “Here, sit down,” he said, getting up and grabbing the other chair.

"That was really cool, I'm glad I got to see it. I never have before." John sat down and looked out. "I could get used to living some place like this."

“Could you?” Sherlock asked. “I’m not sure I could -- I think I’d get bored.”

"I like the quiet. I like being close enough to a city, but it’s nice here," he said. 

“It is nice here,” Sherlock agreed. He glanced over. “I’m glad we came. It feels . . . the same.”

"Yeah," John smiled. He looked over at Sherlock and studied his profile. 

“I know it’s not exactly the same and all, but I’m glad I still like you,” Sherlock said. “So . . . what do you fancy doing now?”

John shrugged. "Want to watch a movie? I brought my computer," he said. 

“Sure,” Sherlock said. “Out here or inside? These chairs aren’t that comfortable, and we can’t plug in the laptop.” He got up and led them inside. He surveyed the room and said, “If we pull that table over, we can sit on the sofa and it won’t be too bad.”

"That sounds good. Are you hungry or anything?" he asked. 

“Not really. Are you? Hold on, wait,” Sherlock said, moving over to the bag he’d put in the kitchen. “I brought something for you,” he said, handing John a bag. “It’s popcorn -- like we used to have when we watched movies sometimes.”

John blinked and took the bag from him. He smiled slowly and looked up at him. "Thanks," he said. “This’ll be enough.”

“Pick whatever film you want,” Sherlock said as he sat down. “I’m not promising I’ll enjoy it, but I’ll try.”

"Okay. You picked last time, so it's only fair," he teased. 

Sherlock kicked off his shoes and lifted his feet to the end of the table. “This sofa’s not that comfortable,” he said. “I wish we were on my bed.”

"That was much more comfortable, but this is all part of the experience." John smiled and started the movie. "It’s an action film."

“So you can live out your Army fantasy?” Sherlock asked and threw a piece of popcorn at him.

"It’s super heroes," John said, throwing the piece back. 

“Why do you like these things?” Sherlock asked. “They’re ridiculous.”

"They're fun. It’s nice to get lost in something fantastic," he said. 

“We were always different that way,” Sherlock said. “I’d rather get lost in logic.”

"There's some science in this. I don't know how real it is," he added. 

“All right, be quiet, I need to pay attention to critique,” Sherlock said as he settled in. He wasn’t sure whether or not John was just saying that, but he was pretty sure any science in a film like this was bound to be wrong.

John smiled and focused on the film. He slouched a bit closer to Sherlock, munching on the popcorn. 

After a while, Sherlock said, “Are those two monsters married or something? Sorry -- not monsters, ‘super heroes’, I mean.”

"No. They just fight together. Friends, probably."

“Right,” Sherlock said. He sat quietly for a bit longer. “So you all worked up now? Imagining yourself as one of them?”

John chuckled. "You're making it sound dirty," he said. "But I do wish I had powers."

“I meant it in an inspired way, but now you’ve got me curious,” Sherlock said, turning a bit. “Do you mean super powers like them?”

John nodded. "Something to be stronger, faster, be able to fly . . . it would be cool."

“You’re already the strongest person I know,” Sherlock said. “Go for flying. What would you do? Where would you go?”

"Everywhere. I'd visit foreign countries and see all the amazing sights. I could come home whenever I wanted unlike when I’m deployed.”

“What are you talking about?”

John looked over a bit confused.

“Are you going to war?” Sherlock asked.

"Well, I mean it’s likely, isn’t it? That’s what happens when you join an Army that’s fighting somewhere.”

Sherlock turned back a little. He said, “I don’t think this is a good idea, John.”

"What?" he asked. 

“Your joining the Army . . . I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

"I already have," he said.

“Maybe you should reconsider,” he mumbled and then grabbed the bag of popcorn and turned to focus on the film.

"I don’t want to," he said. “There’s a risk, but the benefits are worth it.” He slouched a bit lower and sighed softly. 

Sherlock stared at the screen. It didn’t seem fair that they were finally back together and then John would leave and be sent even further away.

John glanced over at him. He felt awkward again. "Sorry," he said softly. 

Sherlock lifted his finger to his lips and then his hand dropped to his leg. He didn’t want to talk about it. He concentrated on the end of the film. John swallowed and turned back to the film. There wasn't much left. When it was over, he shut the computer. 

“Well, I made it and I didn’t even complain at how utterly stupid the so-called science in this film was,” Sherlock said, shifting and stretching out his legs.

John smiled. "Let's lay down," he said. 

Sherlock stood up and stretched properly. He picked up the popcorn bag and put it in the bin. He got two glasses of water out and set them on the table by the sofa. “You can set your sleeping bag out,” he said. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

Sherlock came out of the bathroom drying his face. John went in, so Sherlock changed into his pajamas and sat down on the sofa and took out a book from his bag.

John brushed his teeth and washed his face before coming out again. He stripped down to his briefs and climbed into his bag. "Are you staying up a bit?" he asked. 

Sherlock shook his head. He dropped the book by John’s feet, grabbed his sleeping bag and spread it on the floor before getting in. “I’m just going to keep this book here in case I can’t sleep, I can read with the light of my phone. I won’t wake you.”

John lifted on his elbow. "Do you have trouble sleeping?" 

“I did at school,” Sherlock said. “I mostly slept the couple nights I’ve been back, but just in case.”

"Oh. Well, why are you lying like that?" he asked. 

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked.

"With your head by my feet. It’s not really necessary with the bags." 

“Oh, right, I suppose you’re right,” Sherlock said. He pushed himself up and shifted the bag. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he added as he slid in. “Night.”

“Good night," he said, shifting on his side to get comfortable. 

Sherlock lay there for a few minutes. The cabin was quiet except for John’s breathing and the quiet hum of the small refrigerator. He could hear the noises from outside, which were kind of nice actually. He closed his eyes. The floor still felt quite hard underneath him, despite the cushion of the sleeping bag. He turned on his side and opened his eyes. John’s face was quite near his own. “You asleep?” he whispered. “This is kind of weird.”

John opened his eyes. "I'm not sleeping yet. What's weird?"

“Our faces are so close together,” he said. “Do you want me to move?”

"No," John said. 

“All right then,” Sherlock said. “Good night.”

"Good night Sherlock." John didn't close his eyes right away, taking an extra second to look at him. Then he settled in, thinking about what things they might do tomorrow.


	8. The Second Day of the Trip

Sherlock spent most of the night silent and still, listening. A few times he thought about getting up to read, but realised, although he was still awake, he felt all right. Eventually he found his eyes were closed and when he opened them again, it was bright in the room. He turned his head and looked at John, who was still sleeping. It was still his best friend, John Watson -- the face was a bit older, but now Sherlock knew for sure that regardless of what had happened in their lives apart, their friendship was still strong.

“John?” he asked. “Are you awake?”

John shifted and hummed. "Not yet,” he mumbled. 

Sherlock considered pestering him, but instead he got up and went to the bathroom. Then he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on so he could have tea ready.

John shifted onto his back. "Why did you get up?" he asked. 

Sherlock poured two cups and carried them in. “To make these,” he said, sitting down on his sleeping bag and placing one cup near John. “Did you sleep all right?” 

John yawned and stretched wide. "Yeah. Did you?"

“I did,” Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. “It’s bright out -- what do you want to do today?”

"Let's go swimming," he said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but said, “All right. Do you want some breakfast first?”

"Yes," he said. "I'll make it." John took a sip of tea and got up, stretching again before going into the kitchen. "You like eggs and stuff, right?" he asked. 

“Yes, but we didn’t bring any,” Sherlock said. “We’ve got muesli and some toast. Should I make us some?”

"Oh, I guess I assumed there would be something here, I don't know why. Okay, I'll let you do it," John smiled and went into the bathroom instead.

Sherlock got the food ready. He’d brought some jam he remember John liking, hoping it was still his favourite. He boiled the kettle again and then went outside the back to find a little table to use with the chairs.

John brushed his teeth and washed his face before going into his bag to find some comfortable clothes to put on. He came out and saw the door open, heading out to find Sherlock. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked. He took a deep breath and smiled softly. 

“No, I managed to handle it,” Sherlock said. “I brought jam for yours.” He handed John the bowls and then grabbed the mugs, balancing the plate of toast on his arm.

They sat down to eat, not talking too much as they finished waking up properly. The woods looked pretty, and they listened to the birds. When Sherlock finished eating, he got up to get a cigarette. “If the water looks gross,” he said as he returned. “I don’t think we should go in, all right?”

"Okay, but I don't think it'll be gross. I'm going to get ready while you do that," he said. He went into the house with the dishes and put them in the sink before changing into his swimming trunks. 

Sherlock finished his cigarette and followed John inside. He grabbed some shorts and went into the bathroom to get ready. He came back out and said, “We’ve only got one big towel. I’ll be honest, my mum had suggested swimming as an option, but I didn’t think we’d do it.”

"Do you like swimming? We don't have to," he said. 

“It’s all right,” Sherlock said. He pulled a carrier bag from the bag in the kitchen and pushed the towel into it. “Should we head out?”

John nodded, leading the way out of the house and reminding Sherlock to grab a key. 

“Remind me to move this to my shoe before we get in the water,” he said.

They started walking through the woods, the sun occasionally hitting them through the trees. It was going to be a hot day. When they got to the lake, the water looked clean, with a nice blue-green colour. They took off their shoes, and Sherlock pushed the key into one of his. He peeled off his shirt and set it and John’s on top of his shoes.

The water was quite cold at first since their skin was hot after their walk. Sherlock walked in slowly, the water almost burning his skin. Eventually he bent down and went under the water.

John moved into the water quickly, shouting at how cold it was but diving under anyway. He swam a decent length before coming up again and wiping his face. "Sherlock! This is great. Why didn't we ever come here when we were little?" he asked. He dove again and swam towards Sherlock to come closer to him before floating up on his back and closing his eyes against the sun. It felt amazing.

They lost track of time, playing in the water like children, and after eventually dragging themselves out and sitting at the edge for a while, they felt hot again and got back in to cool off. Eventually, Sherlock said, “I’ve got no idea what time it is but this feels like the longest I’ve been outside doing nothing since that time we went to those caverns.”

John smiled. "We aren't doing nothing. We're hanging out," he said. "And those caverns were fun, don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."

Sherlock smiled. “Those caverns were good,” he said, remembering. “And today’s been good as well.” He splashed some water at John. “Do you think we should head back though? It’s been a while since you’ve eaten and I know how you get when you don’t get food,” he added, splashing again.

"And how do I get without food?" he asked, smiling with his brows up. 

“Obnoxious,” Sherlock said, splashing again as he started to move to get out. “Come on.”

John splashed Sherlock's back and swam away towards the shore.

Sherlock grabbed the towel first and tossed it to John. He shook his head so the water flew from his hair. When John handed back the now damp towel, he patted his chest and then slipped his shirt over his head. He grabbed the key from his shoes and pushed it deep into his pocket. He threw the towel over his shoulder and grabbed the bag. They headed back to the cabin.

“It’s really hot in the sun,” Sherlock said as soon as they got into the shades of the woods.

John nodded. "I hope we didn't burn. Well, you mostly."

“I’m not a baby,” Sherlock said. “Besides, if you care so much, you probably should have said something before I was in the sun all day.”

"I could have sworn I said something about sunscreen," John said. 

“I don’t think you did, and if you did, you should have insisted,” Sherlock said as he unlocked the door. “Like I’m going to insist now -- your turn to make the tea.” 

John pushed him lightly. "Just as bossy as ever," he teased, making his way into the kitchen to start the kettle. Then he took a quick shower and put on shorts and a t-shirt. He flopped onto the sofa and slouched a bit to get comfortable as he sipped his tea and looked around. The swimming had been fun. Things were starting to feel less awkward and much more like they used to be. He was happy, smiling to himself on the sofa. 

Sherlock stepped back outside and hung the towel on the line. His shorts and shirt were pretty dry so he left them on. He returned and made tea, bringing it into the sofa. “Should we make a fire and do our dinner outside tonight?” he asked.

“Sounds good,” John said.

“We’ve got sausages and vegetables, but no burgers,” Sherlock said. “What do you think?”

"I'd be happy with that, you know I'm not picky," John smiled. 

“Have you ever made a fire?” 

"No, but I think I can manage if we have supplies," he said. 

“My grandmother will be very upset if you burn down this cabin,” Sherlock said. “Remember, it took her years to forgive you for winning all the games at my tenth birthday party.”

John laughed. "They were all sport games!" He finished up his tea. "Just show me where the stuff is. By the time you finish making the rest of dinner, I'll have a nice fire going for the meat."

Sherlock stood up. “They’ve got a little pit in back and there was some wood there as well,” he said. “Let’s go look and then I can make a salad while you get it going.”

"Okay," he said. He stood and stretched, following Sherlock out into the little yard. There was a lot of wood. 

Sherlock put some twigs and leaves into the pit and then went back in to grab some paper. He helped John shift some wood to the pit before pulling out a cigarette, lighting it, and then handing his lighter to John. "Go for it," he said.

John rolled up some paper and lit it, pushing it in the middle of the wood tepee they had made. The leaves lit, and slowly it spread to the wood. 

"Impressive," Sherlock said. He stubbed out his fag. "I'll go make a salad. Will that be enough for you, do you think?" he asked.

John grinned proudly and nodded.

Sherlock went back into the kitchen and brought out the sausages. He returned with some rolls on a plate and two bowls of salad before going back in to get a couple empty plates, silverware and water. Then he sat down to watch John. "Thanks for doing this," he said. "I saw my mum stuck in some marshmallows if you want those for dessert."

"That sounds really good," he said. 

When John brought the sausages over, Sherlock put one on his plate, pressing his knife in to double check that it was cooked. He took a bite. "It's edible," he said with a smile.

John pretended to look offended. "Why are you surprised?"

"No, just cautious," Sherlock said.

"Hmm." John smiled and dug into his own happily, watching the fire as he ate. 

Even though they'd never been camping together before, there was something about the scene that seemed familiar to Sherlock. He mentioned a memory to John and then they spent the rest of dinner talking about old times. It was nice for Sherlock now, to be able to talk about the past without feeling so much sadness. After they'd finished, he went in to get the marshmallows. They found a few sticks and toasted a few.

"I'm glad you were able to come. That you wanted to," John said. 

"Of course, I did," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you did -- I know you could have been doing stuff with other people. . .I'm glad you came with me."

"I could have, I suppose, but I didn't want to," he said. 

Sherlock threw his stick into the woods. “I’ve had enough of that sweetness,” he said. “It kind of made me feel sick. I’ll make some tea, but I think I’ll jump in the shower.” He got up and picked up the plates to carry them inside. He threw them into the bin and washed off the silverware and then took a quick shower to rinse off. He returned with two mugs.

John was adding more wood to the fire to keep it going for a bit more. It was nice sitting outside and listening to the crackling of it burning.

“I have to be honest, I didn’t think I’d enjoy swimming, but today’s been a good day,” Sherlock said. “I’ve not missed being on my computer or anything about home. And I’m bizarrely tired. But a good day.”

John smiled over at him. "Good," he said. "I had a lot of fun too," he said. 

Sherlock sighed and looked out at the woods. “You know you said you’d like to live out here? I still don’t know if I could, but if I had to, you’d have to be here,” he said.

John raised his brows but didn't comment on that last bit. "I think it’s relaxing, ending the day like this," he said. 

“I don’t know what I think is relaxing,” Sherlock said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been relaxed.”

"Well, you should start. It’s quite nice," he said. "Aren't you relaxed right now?"

“I suppose,” Sherlock said. He picked up his hand and let it drop. “Yes, definitely -- my muscles barely function, so I guess I am.” 

John laughed. "That's the proof?"

“You know I need evidence to believe anything,” Sherlock said. He stretched his arms. “We should tidy up. Is it all right if we don’t watch a film tonight?”

"Yeah, that's okay. I think we're going to sleep pretty quick tonight," he said. 

Sherlock stood up and moved over to the fire. “Should we pour water on this?” he asked.

"Yeah, or even some dirt," John said.

Sherlock started kicking some dirt and then went into the kitchen and brought out a big bowl of water. “Here, you do it, since it’s your fire,” he said.

John took the bowl and poured the water over it until it was all out.

“Well done,” Sherlock said, patting him on the arm. “You’ve been a very good boy today, John Watson.”

John laughed. "Thanks, I suppose," he said. 

“Let’s go in and I’ll do the washing up,” Sherlock said. He grabbed the bowl and headed in.

John set up their sleeping bags before going into the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

Sherlock slipped off his shoes and then grabbed his book, dropping it near the head of his sleeping bag. He still felt quite hot so he lay down on top of it instead of getting inside. But it felt a little prickly, almost like something was stinging through his t-shirt, so he couldn’t get comfortable.

“Did you do something to my sleeping bag?” he asked John when he came out of the bathroom.

"Of course not," John said. 

“It’s hurting my back for some reason,” Sherlock said, sitting up. He lifted his shirt over his head and turned toward John. “Did I get stung by something maybe?”

John looked at his back. "No, but you're burned," he said. "Just a little. Do you have lotion or aloe?"

“Obviously not,” Sherlock said. 

"Okay, hold on." John got up and dug through his bag. He took out the bottle of aloe at the bottom and sat on his bag again. "I'm going to put it on, okay?"

“I should’ve known you’d have some,” Sherlock said. “I could pretend that’s why I didn’t bring any -- because I’d known the doctor-to-be would have some, but that’s not why. I didn’t think I’d get burnt. Is it going to hurt?”

"No, it'll feel cool. Good." John poured some in his hand and started rubbing it over Sherlock's shoulders. 

Sherlock’s body jerked from the initial touch, but it didn’t really sting. “Is it bad?” he asked. “Will I be able to sleep?”

"It's not bad, you'll be fine." John put on a bit more and moved his hand slowly over Sherlock's back.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute. His skin didn’t really hurt that much -- John’s touch and the cool aloe felt quite nice actually. When John had finished, he said, “Thanks for always thinking of things I don’t. Should I put my shirt back on or leave it off?”

"Leave it off so the aloe can dry," John said. “You’ll be fine.” He shifted and lay down, looking at the ceiling and taking a deep breath.


	9. Together

"Can I ask you something?" John asked.

Sherlock gingerly lay down on his side. “Of course,” he said.

"Why didn't you like the kissing?"

“What kissing?” Sherlock said, looking over at him. “Oh, you mean, Ellen?” He rolled flat on his back again. “I don’t know . . . I didn’t like her. I didn’t even really know her.”

John kept looking at the ceiling. "But it wasn't the kissing part? Just the person?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. He hadn’t really felt much about it at the time. It’s not like he’d hated it, but it definitely wasn’t very sexy or anything, because there was also something about it that felt like a trick. He thought about seeing Ellen with Jim at the end of term. “It was the person,” he said. “I didn’t like her.”

John stared at the ceiling. He swallowed. "Did I tell you I had a boyfriend for a little bit?"

Sherlock was quiet for a second. “What do you mean?” he asked.

"I mean I like boys sometimes too, as well as girls," he said. "Maybe you do too, maybe that’s why you didn’t like the girl kissing you. It might not be, I just mean, it's okay if you do."

“Did you kiss him?”

"Yeah," John admitted.

“I didn’t expect that,” Sherlock said.

"Maybe . . . do you want to try?" he asked quietly.

“Kissing? With who?”

John's cheeks flushed lightly. "Me."

“Why?”

"I -- it's okay, never mind," John said. "I just thought you'd want to try something different, just in case."

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to -- I just wanted to know why you suggested it and now you’ve told me,” Sherlock said. “Do you want to? Or are you offering just so I can try it?”

"I want to," John said.

Sherlock shifted a little on his sleeping bag. Finally, he said, “We could . . .”

John shifted and faced Sherlock. "You're really handsome," he murmured.

“I doubt it, John,” Sherlock said stupidly. “You are the better looking one,” he added, glancing up at John’s face.

John reached out and traced Sherlock's jaw lightly. He wished his hands didn't smell like aloe.

“Your hand smells funny,” Sherlock said quietly. He swallowed awkwardly. “I didn’t really do anything . . . with Ellen. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do . . “

John nodded, sliding his hand into Sherlock's hair. He glanced at Sherlock's lips before closing the space and kissing him softly.

Sherlock tried to relax. He put his hand on John’s back, pulling him a little closer. It felt good with John’s body next to his. He pressed into John’s mouth. That felt good, too. He slid his hand to John’s head, tipping it as he deepened the kiss. John hummed softly in surprise. He parted his lips a bit, moving them slowly. A small noise escaped from Sherlock’s lips. He shifted his body, pulling John a bit on top of him. John rolled a bit, keeping his weight on his elbow. He licked out lightly, wanting more since Sherlock seemed to like it.

Sherlock kissed John again, letting his hand drop to John’s back, settling on his shoulder blade. Then he looked at John’s face and said, “It is different with someone I like.”

John smiled and lay down beside him, facing him. "Did you like it then?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said quietly. “Did you? With me, I mean?”

John nodded. "I really liked kissing you," he said. "I like you."

“You’ve always liked me,” Sherlock said. “I guess I’m asking, do you mean your feelings are like you had for that boyfriend?”

John nodded again. "Kind of. But different, too. More," he said. "I like you a lot more."

“I’ve always liked you more,” Sherlock confessed. “I mean, I’m not sure I knew it was . . . the kissing type of more, but you’ve always been different.”

"Yeah, I think I may have liked you the kissing way too, but I just never knew. I mean, we were young but now . . ."

Sherlock looked over. “Is that why you made me go swimming all day, so you could ogle me?” he asked with a laugh. He left his hand move down to grab on to John’s.

John laughed. "Maybe a little," he said.

“Maybe you should take your shirt off as well?”

John glanced over. He took his shirt off and tossed it aside. He sat up and playfully modeled for Sherlock.

“I wasn’t looking earlier -- I was too busy trying to get sunburned,” Sherlock said, lifting his hand up to touch John’s bare chest. “You look good.”

John pressed into his hand and stared down at him. "I think you were looking," he said.

“I am now,” Sherlock said. “Do you want to lay down next to me?”

John nodded and lay down close to Sherlock, facing him.

“Let’s kiss again,” Sherlock said, but this time he leaned and nuzzled John’s neck, kissing the skin softly.

John moaned softly. "That feels good."

“I don’t really know what to do,” Sherlock whispered against John’s skin.

"What you're doing is perfect," John said. His hand slid down Sherlock's chest and stomach, touching his warm skin.

Sherlock squirmed a little at John’s touch. Then he moved even closer to him so their chests pressed together. “Is my skin hot?” he asked.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock. "Yes . . . it’s good," he mumbled. He dipped and started kissing Sherlock's neck.

“Yours feels cool,” Sherlock said as he slipped one hand around John’s back. He moved his mouth up John’s neck to kiss his mouth again.

John licked out again to taste him. His hand moved lower, toying with Sherlock's pants.

“John,” Sherlock exhaled. “Are you . . . is it okay?”

"It’s okay -- if you want to try with me?"

“Okay,” Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. “Just tell me if I do something wrong.”

John nodded and kissed him again, pushing his hand beyond the elastic to stroke Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock exhaled loudly. John’s hand was warm and firm on him -- he’d expected it to feel the same as when he’d touched himself but it didn’t, it felt better. He lifted his head and sloppily kissed John’s mouth and then dropped his head. He followed John’s lead and slipped his hand inside John’s boxers, holding his cock and then mimicking the same slow stroke. John moaned his approval, kissing Sherlock breathlessly as their hands moved together.

Sherlock squirmed a little and then mumbled, “Let’s take these off,” as he pushed on John’s underwear and then moved to pull off the rest of his own clothes. He settled back on his side and reached again for John, letting his hips move more freely when John went back to stroking him. John found Sherlock's mouth and kissed him again, hard and needy. Everything felt so good.

“John, it’s too much,” Sherlock huffed. He squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to maintain his hand’s movement even though he knew he was about ready to explode. Suddenly he did -- his body jerked, his breath caught, and his heart stopped for a second.

John watched Sherlock's face as he came--he was gorgeous lost in pleasure. John kissed his mouth and let go, coming into Sherlock's hand and moaning his name against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock caught his breath and opened his eyes. He looked over at John and smiled. Then he shifted a little. “We’re a mess,” he said as he got up, moving to the kitchen. He rinsed his hand and wiped off his belly and then ran a towel under the tap for a second. He came back and tossed it to John. “The curtains are still open,” he said. “I hope no one was looking in.”

John cleaned himself up and looked around. "I doubt it," he said. “It’s too dark for them to see anything anyway.”

“You’re nude,” Sherlock said with a grin.

"You too," John smiled.

“I know, but I’ve seen myself without clothes before. I’ve never see you nude, I don’t think.”

"And now that you have?"

“I can cross it off my to-do list,” Sherlock laughed.

John laughed softly. "Come lay by me."

Sherlock shifted over so he could spoon John. “I liked what we did,” he said softly. “Do you want to keep doing things like that together?”

"Yeah, I liked what we did, too," John said.

“Does that mean I’m your boyfriend now?” Sherlock asked.

John smiled and held Sherlock's hand in front of his stomach. "I'd like you to be," he said. He was quiet for a minute. "But I still have to leave. Sherlock . . . we can't go without talking again. You can’t go silent again. Will you at least write to me?"

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “If I’m your boyfriend, I have to.” He snuggled in. “I don’t want to ever miss you like I did before. I know that part of that was my own fault. I won’t let you go so easily this time. I missed so much because I was stupid.”

John squeezed his hand. "Good. If we stay in touch, the distance won’t seem as bad," he said.

Sherlock shut his eyes. He didn’t want John to go away at all obviously, but it was Sherlock who had gone away before and even after the lack of communication, it was so clear they belonged together. Now they both understood this in a way they hadn’t before. If they had survived those years, they could survive this.

He opened his eyes. “But that’s not for while, right?” he asked.

"Right, it’ll be a while," John said. He rubbed his thumb over Sherlock's hand.

“Good,” Sherlock said, squeezing him a little. “Until then we can be around each other all the time, right? Except for if we get jobs or whatever, I know. I just mean, we’ll be able to be together like this, okay?”

"I won't get a job. I want to spend my time with you," John said.

“We’ll see, John -- remember you’re the sensible one. Maybe I’ll get a job, too,” Sherlock said. “But not today or tomorrow or the next. The next few days are just ours.”

"I don't want to be sensible," John pouted.

“Well, you’d better get used to it if you’re going into the Army,” Sherlock said. “Stop being a baby now -- let’s go to sleep.”

John lifted Sherlock's hand and kissed the back before tucking close to him. "Good night, Sherlock."

“Good night, John,” Sherlock said, holding John closely. He lay there for a couple minutes and then said, “Are you already asleep or can I say one more thing?”

"I'm not asleep yet," John said.

“You’re the most important person to me,” Sherlock said. “You always have been. I never really said it before I left, and I wish I had. I guess it means I loved you then and I still feel the same. I just wanted to say it now, so you know.”

John flushed lightly and kissed his hand again. “I have to confess that when I first liked that guy, my mum wasn’t surprised. She said she thought you and I would end up together, and I thought it was crazy. We were friends. But we were young and I didn’t think of us like that. But when she said it . . . I don’t know. I never dated anyone again after that because I kept comparing them to you. I wanted to say that, so you would know too, that no one is like you for me either. I love you too, Sherlock."


End file.
